Circles of Change
by Hiron Otsuki
Summary: Victim of an ancient magic, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin thought he'd never be seen as normal again. But when it looks like Valdemar's progenitor is bent on a war, can he and a blind Bard stop the ancient nation?
1. Of Meetings

**Chapter One: Of Meetings**

Silently, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin moved through the forest, hunting his prey. These last five years hadn't been easy; adapting to this new environment, hunting in a totally different style, accepting the fact that he just couldn't go back to Tale'sedrin the way he was now.

He had heard tell from some of the traders passing through his forest that the Magestorms had stopped, and most of the problems had been fixed, even without the use of the major magics. Most. Gliding through the brush like a wraith, the sunlight caught the sleek body under him. Muscles moved smoothly under hide that gleamed when caught in the sun, and four feet stepped deftly over dead branches and twigs. He wondered what his clan would make of him now. Scanning the brush for movement he drew and arrow out of his quiver, strung his bow, and tensed.

A rustle warned him seconds before the deer sprang out of the underbrush, and he immediately nocked the arrow and pulled it back, even as he leapt after his quarry. He chased the doe through the forest, getting ready-to-fire! The arrow flew straight and true, cutting cleanly through the animal's throat and thudding into a tree behind it. Good; that made it easier to retrieve later. The deer collapsed to the ground, and he rounded on it, leaning down to make sure it was dead. Yes, its eyes were glazing over and it wasn't breathing anymore. A perfect hit.

Later on that night, after eating his fill and storing the rest, he wandered around outside to study the stars. As usual, they afforded him no answer.

* * *

Bard Julian walked down the road, as usual, trusting his feet and mild sense of Empathy to tell him where to go. The sun beat down on his back, and his feet hurt. Time for a break.

He felt his way off the road, to the shelter of a large tree, and rested his pack beside him, sighing contentedly as the leaves shaded him from the hot sun.

He must have dozed off, because when he woke up, the air was distinctly cooler, and the mosquitoes were starting to bite. '_I need to find a house or an inn soon._'

As he rose, he heard hoofbeats on the road before him, and he listened carefully. Multiple hoofbeats, and none with that silver chime, so it couldn't be a Companion, nor a Herald. They stopped before him, and he heard the sounds of several riders dismounting.

"'Ere now, wot's this?" One of the riders queried. Julian heard the sounds of an edged weapon being drawn. Bandits? Bardic immunity _should_ protect him, but just in case- he edged a little closer to the tree, and ever-so-casually placed his hand on his belt knife. Not a very good defense, but if they _were_ bandits, maybe he could startle them long enough to escape.

"I am a Bard, good sir," he said, invoking every bit of the Gift he had to 'leave me alone, I'm not worth it, and it would be too much trouble for one stringy Bard.'

"Y'don't look much like one," the man said again.

"Why won' y' look at me?"

"I am blind, sir," Julian tried to answer as honestly as possible.

"Blind Bard's still good fer playin'. An' yer not bad lookin' either. Pretty, almos'."

Julian paled as he realized what the man meant.

"C'mere," the man that Julian now knew to be a bandit grunted.

"_No!_" the Bard grabbed his pack and scrambled off into the forest, away from the road.

The bandits started laughing, and one or two even started after him, until the leader called them back. "Oy, e's not worth it! Skinny run' like tha' wouldn' las' a week! Leave 'im!"

With that, the bandits left, but by that point Julian was too far away to know that.

He just kept running, opening his minor Empathy even more, to tell him when he was about to run into something.

When he judged that he was far enough into the woods, he stopped, breathing heavily. His pack practically fell off of his aching shoulders, and he slumped into the lee of a large rock. With shaking fingers, he opened his pack and withdrew his lute. It was okay. No cracks, dents, or dings, other than what had been there before. He sighed with relief, and slid it back into his pack.

He pulled his cloak around him and pulled his pack between his legs, loosening his belt knife in its sheath. It was getting colder, and he didn't have any shelter; this could be bad. He rummaged through his pack for food and came up with an apple and a loaf of slightly stale bread. He ate both, and drank some water from his canteen. His head started to hurt, and he realized that it had to be from opening it for too much, too long. He groaned, the headache worsened, and he wished that he had some willowbark tea.

Clutching his pack tighter, he willed himself into an uneasy sleep, chased by the damned reaction-headache.


	2. Inner Demons

Since I didn't mention it last time... (And I'm not going to say this again...)

I do not own anything that you recognize.

Thank yous to Paige, Nendian, Wizard116, Sarah, and Breezefire! And now, on with the horrible… horror that is my fic!

* * *

**Chapter Two: Inner Demons**

The sounds of weapons being drawn awakened him, and he scrambled to his feet. All around him, he heard nasty chuckles and the _same goddamned bandit from before_ addressed him.

"We-el, lookie wot we got 'ere. It's our li'le Bard, still wandering. Still pre''y, too. You lads c'n 'ave 'im when I'm done." Julian yelled, the only thing he could do, and the bandit backhanded him. He yelled again, and swept his feet sideways as he hit the ground. The sensation of his legs hitting someone elses, an "_oomph,_" and the sound of someone else hitting the ground told him that he'd hit the man. Two of the others grabbed his feet before he could run away, and hauled him upright, as he heard the bandit leader getting to his feet.

"So, we got a fighter 'ere." Julian could _hear_ the smirk in the bandit's voice as he struggled with his captors. The leader backhanded him again and he staggered. The bandit grabbed his chin roughly and turned his face.

"Good face, slender jaw. Blue eyes, but that don't matter. I like wot I see," he drawled.

Julian was suddenly aware of the sound of running hooves behind him and assumed it was another bandit, returning from who-knew-where.

Shouts and panicked yells from the other bandits made him change his mind. The new rider jumped over him, so close that he could feel the wind of his passing, and the two holding him let him go. He took the opportunity to run, and scrambled out of the way. The sound of knives being drawn caught his attention quite easily, and he shoved himself backward until he reached a tree, then drew his daggers, little good though they would do.

Steel clashed on steel as he listened intently to the sounds of pounding hoofbeats, frantic neighs from the bandit's horses, and screams from the bandits themselves. No sound came from his mysterious savior, though. Julian could disctinctly hear the _thuds_ of hooves on flesh as his rescuer's mount kicked bandits multiple times.

Finally the sounds of fighting stopped, and he tensed, listening for any sounds. Hoofbeats approached him, and a distinctly Shin'a'in accented voice sounded from what seemed like a far way up.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yes, thank you. Who are you?"

The man snorted, then said, "Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, of the Shin'a'in. And you are?"

"Bard Julian J'Erthan of Valdemar. Thank you for saving me."

Another snort. "Those bastards had it coming. They've been tramping through my forest, day in and day out, scaring my game away and waylaying travelers. Can you stand?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good." Large, callused hands grabbed his forearms, and hauled him up, then Julian heard what sounded like a hoof scuff the ground.

"So you'll be going now?"

Julian caught something that sounded very like lonliness in the other's voice.

"Do you want me to?"

"You can get back to the road, can't you?"

"Actually, no, I can't." Julian lifted his unseeing blue eyes to where he figured the warrior's head should be.

"Try a little higher, Bard."

The warrior must be tall. Julian raised his head, and suddenly the warrior's fingers were on his chin, lifting his face to a high angle. '_Lady, he must be almost seven feet!_'

"_Sheka._ You're _blind?_"

In bewilderment, Julian nodded.

"This is perfect!" The man started laughing and Julian was confused even more.

"Sir? Is there something wrong?"

The laughing ceased. "No, but it explains a great deal."

"Oh." Julian sheathed his daggers.

"You can't get back to the road, then?"

Julian set his mouth. "I can try."

"Nonsense. You can stay with me until it's light. I know this forest, and you _can_ feel your way, but some of those bandits might still be around."

"Um, thank you."

"Don't worry about it. Come on."

Julian felt for his pack and realized that it was gone.

"Where's my-"

"Bag?" the Shin'a'in finished. "I have it."

A hand closed on his wrist again, pulling his hand up to rest on the flank of what felt like a horse.

"I would have you mount, but as my mount's back is quite broad, and she doesn't much like other people on her back, you'd be best walking beside me."

"Thank you." Julian _could not_ ride, and on top of that, horses seemed to have a near instinctive hate for him specifically, Companions excluded of course.

The horse started moving, and Julian was forced to walk along with it, feeling the horse's muscles moving under his hand. His companion was silent, leaving Julian to contemplate the situation. He smelled forest, and a musk that was neither horse nor human, but a mixture of both. Julian put it down to the fight and his frazzled nerves. He could hear the Shin'a'in breathing, but not the horse. Odd.

"Cautiously, he began to run his fingers up the animal's flank to where the head should be- "Stop!" said the warrior in a panicked voice.

"What?"

"Don't- just- don't do that."

Strong fingers closed around Julian's wrist again and placed it further back along the horse's flank.

"Alright."

They walked in silence for a long while- rather, led and followed,- until the rider stopped.

"Here," he said. "This is my home. There will be a rough step down about three paces in front of you, and then a door. I know It's a bit dark- oh. Sorry- I didn't mean-"

It's alright," Julian interrupted him. "I'm used to it, and it starts to get rather funny after a while."

The horseman began to lead him forward again, and true to his word, there was a high step that led to a floor on a lower level than that of the forest.

'_Why isn't he dismounting_?' Julian wondered.

Hooves stepped through, following along behind him, until Julian walked through what felt like a curtain of vines. The air was distinctly cooler in here; were they in a cave? The clop-clopping stopped, and the Shin'a'in spoke again. "There's a pallet to your right, next to the wall, on the ground. I'll bring a basin for you to wash up with in the morning, as well as some food. Is there anything else you need?" He sounded almost wistful, Julian thought.

"No- thank you," he said, and heard the Shin'a'in turn his horse to leave, then something occurred to him. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Why- why are you helping me?"

"Because I want to, and because I haven't had the pleasure of human company in a long time."

"Ah," he said wisely, and left it at that. The Shin'a'in left the room, and he felt his way over to the wall. It felt cold, but dry, and definitely like rock. This was definitely a cave.

Feeling his way along the wall, his foot finally nudged something soft. At last!

He dropped down onto the soft pallet, stretched out onto his side, and tried to go to sleep. The horse-human-musk smell was stronger here, and Julian assumed it was because this was probably where Rowen slept. Sure enough, when Julian was just dozing off, he heard the seemingly ever-mounted Shin'a'in come in and drop down on the other side of the room.

Rowen awoke to sudden cries in the night.

_Enemy!_ His instincts screamed. _Where?_

Hackles raised, he rose and grabbed his sword before he realized that it was just the Bard. Quietly, he put his weapons down and stepped across the small room to where the lad lay. _He _couldn't use the pallet- merely lie down like a horse or lock his legs and sleep standing up- so there was no reason the Bard couldn't use it.

Said Bard was thrashing about on the pallet, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. He looked like he was grappling with someone, who had him on his back. He reached for a knife that wasn't there, and stabbed at his invisible enemy. Rowen watched with interest, and the fight finally ended with a short scream from the Bard, who clutched his face and sobbed. His blind eyes opened, and flickered around the room before closing again, and he sighed, a tune now emanating from his closed mouth, nothing Rowen recognized.

He sighed, lay down again, and went back to sleep.


	3. Don't Shoot!

Sincere thankyous to DarkangelWings, Ashfur, Fireblade K'Chona, Breezefire, and Wizard116! I love you guys!

Disclaimer: If Misty has lots of money and Hiro No Tsuki has none, who do you think owns Velgarth?

* * *

**Chapter Three: Don't Shoot!**

"So we don't know where he went?" Selaney asked.

"We do, vaguely; the- ah- men that reported the 'monster' also reported passing a young Bard on the road that fits his description, but the men don't exactly appear to be of very reputable origin."

"Ah. Did you get anything from them?"

"I managed to get impressions of a horse-human monster that attacked them- but I also managed to get something else."

"Which would be?"

"They're bandits, Majesty. They were attempting to waylay Julian when the monster attacked them. They don't know what happened afterwards because they ran away. The images that I picked up- well, let me show you."

Selaney nodded and Talia placed one hand on her wrist, and reached for Rolan. She projected the image that was in one of the bandit's mind to Selaney's- a melding that seemed to have black razor sharp hooves, a sword made of human bones, black midnight skin, and raven hair, as well as glowing red eyes.

"Another Changechild, no doubt," Selaney murmured. "How big did they say it was?"

"They _said_ about a hundred feet tall, but I highly doubt that. From the looks of it in relation to the trees, I'd say about nine or ten feet tall. It does seem to be a danger, though."

"Indeed. Send one of the Herald Mages to take care of it, but let him make sure that Julian is at least safe if he isn't dead first."

"Yes, Majesty. And the bandits?"

Selaney smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"Give them standard punishment for attacking a Bard, then put them in gaol for a few months to cool their heels."

"Yes, Majesty."

Misty fog drifted in and out of his view, and all he could see was a vast empty expanse, filled with nothing but mist. Dreamily, he started to mentally compose something- then light assaulted him from all sides, and noise rushed at him. He was back in the tavern where- _No!_ –where he had lost his sight. He tried to move, to get out of there before the drunken sot that blinded him could come stumbling in, but he couldn't move.

_What?_

He was a prisoner in his own body, watching his own downfall, and he couldn't move an inch. The mercenary came in through the door and immediately moved over to the bar. Julian's body smiled at the Healer across the room- Leona was her name, he thought, and he started playing 'My Lady's Eyes.' An hour or two later, he was drunk beyond belief, and fairly belligerent. He asked Julian for a song- something that Julian didn't know. He said as much and the merc asked again, and Julian repeated that he didn't know. At this point the mercenary's face was flushed, and he was swaying on his feet. He towered over the Bard, anger written in every part of his face. _Oh no._

His body smiled up uncertainly at the man, who scowled. Somehow he'd had the good sense to put his lute to the side, in a safe corner before standing up to stretch his leg muscles. "I'm sorry, sir. Are there any other-" He never got to finish the sentence, because the soldier drew back his arm and punched him in the jaw. The other patrons of the bar had drawn back, _No help from them_, and the man had landed on top of him. He could see the Healer across the room rise and start to push through the crowd, and a Herald wearily entered the door, eyes widening as he took in the situation. Frantically, Julian grabbed for his belt knives, and stabbed at his attacker. The merc didn't flinch, even when Julian drove one into his leg. He just grabbed his own knife, and yelling something that Julian couldn't hear, brought it up high, obviously intending to slash Julian's throat.

Inside his body, Julian watched in horror as his body stared at the knife- the last thing he would ever see- before yanking his chin to his chest to protect his neck. The silver knife came down, down, down, across the edge of his right eye socket, across his eye, the bridge of his nose, across his other eye, and across his left eye socket. His vision vanished in a spray of blood, and he felt the hot blood flowing down his face. Both Julians screamed, and the man was suddenly thrown off of him- no, vanished. Over the roaring in his ears he could hear something landing on the far side of the room, in a crash of splintering wood and shattering glass. Suddenly he felt cold hands on his forehead and right cheek, and the pain lessened. The Healer called to him but he couldn't answer- everything was going darker than his vanished eyesight, ad finally he tumbled into unconsciousness just as he barely heard the Healer ask Herald something-or-other to link with her.

A voice called him out of sleep and he heard the dim swishing of water. "Bard," an accented voice called. "_Bard_. Wake up. It's light out. You can leave."

He struggled out of the depths of sleep, and said the first thing that came to mind- "Mummy, I don't wanna help you with the chickens today. Five more minutes."

The voice replied, this time with a hint of humor. "Julian J'Erthan, wake up before I pour your basin of water on you." To prove it, a dribble of water landed on his neck. Cold water. Very cold water.

_That_ got him awake. He shot up, and heard something being placed beside him. "The bowl of water is to your left, Julian. I've got some soup ready for you, and some dried venison before you go."

"O-okay," he stammered. "Thank you."

Hooves moved away from him, and Julian wondered again why the Shin'a'in was mounted at this time of the morning, and inside the cave, too. "Milor- Rowen?"

"Yes?" Came the reply. He sounded sad. "Why… are you always mounted? I've never heard you get off your horse once, and I was just wondering." The air in the cave suddenly grew very still. "If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to," he added hastily, when the air in the cave started to stifle him.

"That- is not something I would care to discuss at the moment," Rowen said, after a while. "Perhaps if we ever meet again."

"Alright," Julian conceded. "Another time, then."

"So I guess this is it," Julian said, two days later. They were out by the road, the warrior having led them there the same way he'd led Julian to his home.

"Yes," the Shin'a'in echoed. "This is goodbye."

"I guess this is goodbye, I hope we'll meet again, my friend," Julian half-sang under his breath.

"What's that?" Rowen asked.

"No idea," Julian said. "It just sort of appeared in my head."

"Oh."

"Well-"

"Well-"

"Bye, then. I'll try to come back sometime, or at least write you."

"Yeah," the Shin'a'in muttered. "Write me."

Julian turned down the road, and started walking.

Some time later, he heard frantic hooves thundering down the road behind him. '_Not the bandits again,_' he thought frantically. He extended his sense of Empathy- _Rowen_

Indeed it was.

"Julian!" The Shin'a'in shouted. "Julian, you've got to explain to your Heralds and their Guardsmen that I'm not a monster!"

'_What?_'

Rowen turned in front of him and grabbed his arms. "Julian, _listen to me._ I'm not a monster- I'm a- I'm a Changechild."

"_What?_"

"I was caught in one of the Change Circles with my mare, and we were melded. I'm not human, but I'm not a horse either. Please, tell them not to shoot me!"

Julian extended one hand and the Shin'a'in grabbed it by the wrist and placed it way high up, on his chest. Julian felt hard muscles under his fingers, and trailed them down, over the rock-hard abdomen muscles, past the- fur? His hand shot up again, to the boundary where skin met pelt. All around the waist of the warrior it ran, his spine extending from mid-back into a horse's backbone. _Two_ sets of ribs, two hearts, a melding of two bodies, but one mind.

"Rowen-"

"Julian, you have to understand." Julian could definitely detect fear tingeing Rowen's voice. "Please, they're right behind me, tell them I'm not a monster! _Tell them!_"

The bell-like quality of two Companion's hooves penetrated his senses, along with the sounds of normal hooves biting into the dust of the road.

"Changechild," one of the Heralds- a female- Lisha said. "You will please step away from the Bard."

To Julian, the other (male) Herald said, "Julian, please don't move. We're going to get it away, just be ready to run towards my voice."

Rowen sounded nervous and Julian felt his stomach muscles clench. A hand touched Julian's shoulder and squeezed it gently. He gathered his scattered wits- Felt the Guardsmen draw back their bowstrings- Felt the Heralds tense-

'_Now or never._'

In his best Voice, the one he rarely used, that could stop a small riot, he yelled.

"_STOP!_"


	4. I Doth Stick Thee With Arrows

Now, thank yous to:

Ashfur- Changechildren rule…

Fireblade K'Chona- YES! Maybe shootie the centaur-thing! o.o I am so evil…

Wizard116- Thankies.

Little Apple- My first cliff-hanger and someone actually liked it…. . I feel so happy!

Breezefire- I _knew_ I spelled her name wrong, but I was at work and didn't have my books with me. sweatdrops Thanks. .

* * *

**Chapter Four: I Doth Stick Thee With Arrows.**

"_STOP!_"

The Changechild behind him tensed and Julian took a deep breath. "This is not a monster. His name is Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, and he is a Shin'a'in warrior from the Dhorisha plains. I don't know how he got to be this way- he never told me, but please, lower your weapons. Heralds, trust me. He saved me from bandits, and gave me shelter for two days and three nights. I'm imploring you- _lower your weapons_."

Rowen relaxed slightly behind him and Julian started to let the tension ease out of him as he heard the Heralds announce to the men to take the arrows off the strings, when a voice behind them on the road screamed, "_Monster!_" Rowen spun around, inadvertently bringing Julian with him, and the Bard heard a sickening whistle, and a thud. Somehow he knew that Rowen had been hit somehow. The Shin'a'in screamed, and Julian screamed with him. The Guardsmen and the Heralds shouted, and he heard Rowen gallop at his attacker. A second whistle pierced the air and Julian felt a sudden pressure in his shoulder.

Even without sight, he knew that a second arrow had hit him in the shoulder. Pain suddenly coursed through his shoulder and he heard the attacker scream, and thuds. Even with the distraction of the pain, he knew that Rowen had barreled into the person, and he heard and felt the Guardsmen rushing past him to separate the two combatants. A creak of leather and the male Herald was by his side, helping him to sit down, and remove his pack, and he heard the female Herald trying to calm Rowen down.

The male Herald spoke to him gently. "Julian, the arrow is lodged in your shoulder. I'm going to pull it out now. _Do not move._" Julian felt another twist of pain in his shoulder. "On the count of three. One-" the Herald pulled the arrow out before Julian could tense.

"Not- nice," Julian gasped when he could talk again.

The Herald said nothing, merely snorted and placed something onto Julian's shoulder. Down the road, he heard strangled yells and muffled cursing in a language he didn't really recognize. The former he didn't recognize, but the second sounded like Rowen.

_'Rowen.'_

"Where was Rowen hit, sir?" he asked the Herald next to him.

"It's Herald Kyndri, lad. Your… friend was hit in his- erm…. flank… where the horse's…. in the lower body's right shoulder."

"Is he alright? Who was the man that shot at us?"

"He's fine, he'll just have some problems walking for a bit. The man-" Herald Kyndri paused for a few moments while Julian listened to Rowen's cursing anxiously. It didn't _sound_ like he was 'alright.'

"He's a bandit, from the same group that attacked you earlier. Apparently he got separated from his fellows and decided to get back at the 'monster.'"

"Bastard," Julian spat.

"Indeed. But look, Rowen's coming this way. The men are afraid to get to close to him so Lisha and Inyam(1.) are helping him over. We're going to pull the arrow from his shoulder, but we need you to help us do it."

Julian nodded, and the Herald patted him on the shoulder. He could hear hard breathing and a hoof sometimes thudding into gravel. _Step step step hop, step step step hop_, until they made it over. Rowen eased himself onto the road next to Julian with a, "Damn, this hurts."

The Heralds helped Rowen to lie down on his left side, back towards Julian. "Julian, start singing something. You have a minor Gift of painblocking, don't you?"

_Duh._Why hadn't he thought of it before? Self-consciously because he was in front of Rowen, he started to sing, '_The Shadow Lover._' He could feel Rowen's gaze on him and the Bard flushed. Julian felt a hand touch his good shoulder.

"The pain's… fading…"

Herald Lisha grasped the arrow at the shaft where it entered the flesh, tightened her grip, and _pulled_. The Changechild jerked, and then lay still. "Thank you," Rowen ground out between gritted teeth.

Kyndri took some bandages out of one of his Companion's saddlebags and started winding it around Rowen's shoulder. Lisha did the same for Julian, and soon they were both patched up nicely.

Both Heralds and their Companions helped Rowen to his feet, and Rowen in turn helped Julian to his feet.

"Well, then, that's done," Lisha announced briskly.

"Now's the real question," she continued, "How do we get back to Haven? It's a five-day trip with a good horse, and the Changechild's wounded."

"Could we fashion a sling?" Kyndri ventured.

"No, too awkward. How about-"

'_Haven?__ But- Rolan's never been to Haven- the courtiers would stare, at the very least, and I'm sure that no few of the religious fanatics would label him a demon. Still- the Lady Nyara and the Shaman An'desha survived there. Granted, their changes were not as dramatic as this- but still, he _could_ stay in that Tayledras structure out in Companion's Field… I'm sure that if the Tayledras Firesong were to be contacted, he wouldn't mind. Besides, I would be there to help him adjust-_'

Julian came back to the conversation in time to hear a flat 'No,' interrupt Herald Lisha.

"Huh?"

"No, I am not going to Haven," the Shin'a'in repeated. "I have no interest in becoming a study for your Artificers, nor an acquired challenge for the Mages, nor a thing to be stared at among the Court. I came here to live in peace, without being an outcast, and this is where I shall stay."

The Heralds were gaping at him like fish out of water.

"But you must, Rowen," Kyndri finally managed. "We could help you adapt, see just what your new body can do, perhaps induct you into the Guard for training or as an envoy for the Changechildren that have yet to come forward, and those who are afraid of normal humans."

The last argument provoked something in Julian and he stepped forward. "Rowen, please come back with us. We have Adepts there, people that could help you, and Priests and Shamans from many religions, including your own Goddess, who could send pleas to their deities and yours to change you back to normal. And-" Julian smiled uncertainly. "And I would also like to have you there. You're my friend, and I don't like to see my friends in danger or hurt. Our Healers can put your leg back to rights, and there is an- 'eh kay lay' that you can stay in to keep away from the curious," he pleaded. "Just come until the Healers can patch up your leg, then you can decide whether you want to leave or stay. I will always welcome you there, and the Shin'a'in envoy is a very understanding man. He worked with two Changechildren in Urtho's Tower, so he understands them well. And- again, I would like you there," he ended lamely.

"That's- very kind of you, Julian," Rowen said after a long pause. "I was aware that the Shaman Lo'isha was working in the Tower, but I didn't know that he was with other Changechildren. I would be honored to stay in Haven, as long as I can keep away from most of the- most of the humans there. I don't really appreciate being stared at. And I could stay in the _ekele_- wait, you have an _ekele_ in Haven? But- oh, of course, I should have known. Firesong. However, I-" he paused again, and for a long time Julian thought he had made up his mind not to go to Haven. At the thought, his heart twisted. '_I'm just worried about him,_' Julian reasoned with himself. '_I'm just worried. He's my friend, and friends worry about friends._'

Finally the Shin'a'in spoke again. "I will go with you to Haven, and stay in your _ekele_. However," he cautioned before anyone could say anything. "I will not become a study among the Mages, the Artificers, the Guards, or a subject of gossip among your courtiers. Is that understood?"

"Yes," both Heralds chorused together.

Inside, Julian was giddy with joy. Before he could stop himself, he had stepped forward and hugged the Changechild gently around the middle- the only part that was level with Julian's shoulders that he could get his arms around. He felt the muscles under his arms shift slightly before two hands came down to rest lightly on his back.

'_I could get to enjoy this,_' Julian thought with a grin.

One and a half days later, they crossed the invisible boundary between Jkatha and Julian's home country. It hadn't been easy on Rowen; his leg had probably been hurting him more than he would admit, and the bandit had been fighting every step of the way for the first dozen hours until Rowen had threatened to trample him, and the Heralds had volunteered their Companions. Needless to say, the man had shut up quickly and was now almost completely docile except for one or two minor problems. Julian was excited to be back in his own country, despite the fact that the trees, plants, and animals hadn't been any different on either side of the Border. He turned towards the Changechild, and felt his face break out into another grin, before he pushed it aside and bowed slightly.

"Welcome, Rowen," he said formally. "Welcome to Valdemar."

* * *

(1.) If you can guess where Inyam is from, you get a cookie. (Hint: _She_ only appears in one story.)

Please RR, even if you have already done so…


	5. I Am NOT A Baby Eating Demon!

Some strange odd person: I know… _I_ think I'm a bad writer, but they do say that you're your own worst critic… Winning a Pulitzer is definitely not on my to-do list. I never liked being in the spotlight anyways…

DarkangelWings:I've been waiting for someone to come up with this idea, then I got the time and finally figured out that no one probably thought about using the Change Circles like this, so I got down to writing. .

Wizard116: Thankies .

Ashfur: You'll just have to wait and see…. I _am_ writing a novel o.o. It's just on hold for a bit… smart, intellectual, insightful person… you must be stalking me….

Breezefire: Yeah… I knew I messed up somewhere…. Thanks. Geez, for a small, barely updated fic this sure is getting a lot of reviews…

Fireblade K'Chona: Thanks. Ooh, what centaur story?

LadyToFu: He's got a sense of Empathy that keeps him out of danger most of the time. Herald Myste's also Herald-Chronicler; she needs to stay and document everything that goes on, and besides- Heralds get attacked. Bards have… Bardic immunity.

Shameless plug:

To see my DonkeyPuss fic, please go take a look on my profile page. It's One Week.I mean, you all are open minded, (c'mon, you stayed with this fic, and hopefully read my other stuff) please leave a review, if you are so minded.

Since nobody guessed where Inyam is from, I'll give you a hint. She's in one of the anthologies. The cookies are going stale…

Notes: I don't remember how many Councilors there are, or where the main Council room was, so I'm guessing. If I'm wrong, I'll fix it in the revamped version.

I also don't really remember the arrangement of everyone, so that'll get vamped, too.

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Chapter Five: I Am NOT A Baby-Eating Demon!

It took them another nine days to reach Haven. By the fourth day, Rowen was feeling distinctly uncomfortable as farmers and the common people of Valdemar had come out to stare, usually unobtrusively, but he could feel them staring at him as their odd little cavalcade passed. By the seventh, people were openly staring, and by the eighth, he was ready to bolt. They reached Valdemar on the ninth morning, having stopped just outside of Haven to rest at a Waystation, as the Heralds said that the next day would be trying for him and he would need all the rest he could get. Oh, how right they were.

When they actually entered Haven, Rowen wanted nothing more than to bolt, and run far far away, as far as his legs could carry him. He could run off the edge of the known world and it still wouldn't be far enough. The Heralds weren't exactly parading him, but it took exceedingly long to get to the center of the capital, mainly because their route was circuitous, winding back and forth and around until he wished that they could just barge straight through the seemingly endless houses and buildings to the Palace. In that amount of time, he thought he would go mad, because the streets were exceedingly quiet, with all of the citydwellers just staring. At him. He wanted to scream. As it was, it took quite a while to reach the center. When they finally got to the final wall, he wanted to weep with relief. There was a small crowd following them, but when they reached the gate, the whole parade stopped. The Guards at the gate admitted the official procession, but the followers were stopped, and turned away, grumbling.

Inside, things were a bit quieter, with a small group of Heralds and Valdemaran nobility awaiting them at the entrance to the Palace. The Companions and the original Guards turned away, taking the bandit with them, and were replaced by sterner men, dressed in a darker, almost midnight blue that put Rowen in mind of those Shin'a'in Sworn to the Crone. One of the Heralds--an older man with grayingbrown hair--standing at the entrance stepped forward to greet Rowen formally.

"Welcome, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin. Welcome to Valdemar, and welcome to the Palace. I am Prince-Consort Herald Darenthallis." He then turned to Julian. "Welcome back, Bard Julian. I trust your journey went well?" The corner of his mouth turned up in a slight, ironic smile.

"Yes, Milord," Julian answered right back.

"I trust that you are going to stay with Lord Rowen and assist him in settling in here? We have the _ekele_ all ready for you," he added to Rowen.

That startled him. How had these Heralds known about his desire to use the _ekele_? He had heard that their Mind-Magic was strong, but not strong enough to reach from one kingdom to the center of another.

"Thank you, Milord." Rowen was actually impressed enough to bow as best as he could, bending his upper body forward and his legs under him slightly, despite the pain it caused him. A bit of him was wary, but most of him was telling him to trust this Herald, _these_ Heralds. And Julian, of course.

Said Bard immediately admonished him, along with the Prince, for causing himself pain just to make a sign of obeisance. Daren then ordered Julian and Herald Kyndri to help Rowen towards Healer's Collegium to have his leg treated. Herald Lisha stayed with him and the other important personages, presumably to brief them on what the Mind-Magic could not convey. They turned a corner and the Prince and the others vanished from sight.

It was a slow walk, but they finally made it, and three Healers were waiting at the doors where Kyndri left them. One was an older woman with fiery red hair that was cropped short, one a slightly pudgy youth with kind eyes and a gentle look about him, and the third was another woman of indeterminate age, with long brown hair tied back in a braid. All were clad in forest green robes, and all went gape-mouthed when they saw him, but they covered it quickly. They quickly ushered him inside, and directed him to lie on his uninjured side on a long, low, metal table that was- for once- larger than he was, even with the added height of the human torso instead of the horse head. The boy unwrapped the bandages on his leg quickly and professionally, and the two women linked hands by lacing their fingers together, and held them an inch or two over his shoulder wound. Before his eyes, the injury knitted itself up, and the constant pain faded to a dull throb that was hardly noticeable. A faint appetite suddenly blossomed into almost painful hunger pangs, and he looked up, to see Julian hovering near the door. _His_ shoulder looked fine, and he was wearing a new set of scarlet clothes- that uniform thing. Rowen suddenly wondered how long he'd been lying on the table in the room, and shakily tried to rise.

"Easy," one of the Healers placed a hand on his human shoulder and held him down gently- no easy feat, since Rowen had the strength of both man and horse.

"What-"

"You need to eat something," Julian supplied. "Your body used up most of its energy in Healing, so now you need to replenish that energy. What would you like to eat?"

"Erm- barley soup?" '_Please have that, at least,_' he mentally begged. '_I haven't had good barley soup in so long!_'

"Okay. Do you want me to have someone bring it here, or do you want to go to the 'ehkaylay' and eat there and get settled?"

"Actually, I'd prefer to go to the _ekele_. As soon as I can get up, that is." Rowen shifted his weight to his hooves and tried to get up. Tried. He couldn't rise, and it took all three Healers and Julian to get him back on his feet. Rowen stood there swaying for a few seconds before he got his balance back, and smiled down at Julian. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, just let me get my bearings." Julian led him out of the Healer's Ward, and down a long hallway to a large door. Beyond it, Rowen could hear people talking in muted whispers, and when Julian found the handle and opened the door, he was assaulted by a dozen conversations, all of which stopped when the speakers spotted him. Immediately they all started gabbling at him and he couldn't make sense of who to talk to first.

There were two Heralds, one of which was Prince Daren, several people in multicolored robes, and two people off to the side in outlandish clothing, one in white and the other in shades of muted dark green. These two didn't attempt to catch his attention, and neither did the Prince. The three merely watched with speculation in their eyes.

After about a minute of nonsensical words being directed at him and Julian, who was being pressed against his flank by a fat courtier dressed in yellow who was venturing too close, he had to put a stop to it. "ENOUGH!" he shouted, and interestingly, they all shut up instantly.

"Now, what is it that all of you need?" he asked into the shocked silence.

"Milord Rowen," the new Herald began, "we would like to request your presence at a full Council meeting that will begin in two hours, so as soon as you're settled in, would you please alert a page, and have the Bard Julian escort you to the Council Chamber?" She moved forward to say something privately and he leaned down. "You might want to brace yourself," she said quietly. "Many of them will be a bit… edgy in your presence, and a few may be downright rude."

Impressed by her attempt to be helpful, he nodded. "Thank you, Herald…?"

"Talia," she said. "I'm the Queen's Own."

That sounded like an important office, he thought. Who, and what, exactly was this small birdlike woman?

As she nodded at him, then turned to leave, presumably for other duties, the Prince followed her, and the robed people pressed in.

"Milord, would it be possible for us to-"

"Milord Rowen, could you-"

"Lord, after the Council meeting,"

"Milord, I am Mage-"

"Milord," "Milord-" "Milord-"

Their voices spun around him until he thought he would grow dizzy from each of them trying to be heard over the other. Finally the strange people apart from the rest of the group stepped in.

"Lords, Ladies, please. Let the Lord Rowen get settled in first before you start examining him, and inviting him places. I'm sure that he will be very tired after the Council meeting, and he's certainly in no shape to be answering all of your questions today," the woman said.

"I promise you, I'll still be here tomorrow," Rowen stated. "Would you all mind waiting until I'm settled enough to answer all of your questions coherently? Thank you." As one, the Mages all turned away and flounced off down the hallway in a different direction than the one that Talia and the Prince had taken.

"My apologies, Lord Rowen," the woman began. "I'm Herald-Mage Elspeth, and this is the Tayledras Adept Darkwind, Envoy for the Talyledras." She gestured to her companion, who nodded at Rowen. "That was… sort of an attempt to see how you could hold up under pressure, and I must admit, you did remarkably well. Since Julian really hasn't been to the _ekele_ before, we'll take you there. Do you have any bags?"

"No, but Herald Lisha sent some of the Guardsmen back for my belongings, and they should be arriving soon."

"Ah." Rowen grabbed Julian's wrist and the Envoys led them through the center courtyard, through a large and beautiful garden that looked like it was tended all year round, to a fence that separated the buildings, gardens, and courtyard areas from a huge field of lush, green grass. The field was gigantic, had to cover several acres, and had a large grove of old, old trees directly in the middle. Off in a far, far corner was another stand of trees, with what looked liked a small wooden building nestled in the middle. Rowen could vaguely make out what looked like a second story in the upper branches, but he wasn't sure. Interesting. He wouldn't be able to get up the stairs, but for guests- he blinked. Why was he planning for a long stay? He would be here for a few moons, maybe less, before he got fed up with this place. Still- where would he go if he left?

Certainly tales of the strange half-human, half-horse monster would be circling the city, and soon the entire nation of Valdemar would know. After that, the surrounding countries, then the entire--well, perhaps not the entire world, but people would recognize him anywhere he went. Herald-Mage Elspeth opened the gate leading into the field, and he was momentarily distracted from his thoughts. During the long walk to the far building, he was lost inside of himself again. Possibly--the Kaled'a'in settlement of White Gryphon all the way down south, on the sea. Or--perhaps in Iftel, which no one knew anything about. Or maybe back into a forest, maybe the Pelagir Hills, or the Forest of Sorrows.

He mused on a home in the Forest of Sorrows for a while. Many legends surrounded that place; tales of bandit groups being killed by the very plants that they trampled over, a story of a young boy, who, a long, long time ago, was helped by a friendly forest spirit while running from a bandit group… the myths of that place were endless. Surely if he pled his case before the spirit… But then what of Julian? For his heart twisted at the thought of leaving the Bard behind, and he momentarily wondered why. The wonderment vanished in the shadow of the astonishment he felt when they entered the deceptively small building. When they got through the door, Rowen was gaping. This was no _ekele_. This was a Tayledras Vale! A miniature Vale in the heart of Valdemar!

Plants ran rampant through the ground floor, and small hot and cold pools. He knew that had to be their purpose--why else would Firesong place two identical pools in a single room? Besides, there was steam rising from the pool on the far side of the room. There was also a miniature waterfall, fed by a small stream that originated from the cooler pool, that dropped into the hot pool over a large stone that looked like a backrest.

On the far side of the garden was what looked like a wrought-iron staircase that had to lead to the second floor. The second floor that he couldn't get to because of his damned hooves. He sighed, and continued to look around the garden, growing more content with it by the second.

"Do you like it?" the man- Darkwind, asked.

"This is probably the closest to secluded that you can get in all of Haven. No one except for the Heralds and their Companions ever come into Companion's Field, so you should have privacy enough. Plus we took the liberty of heating the hot pool again when we heard you were coming," Elspeth said.

"Thank you."

"I know it's not home, and it might not ever be, but I thought it would be the place you would be most comfortable in," Julian told him.

"That was very kind of you, Julian," Rowen said. "Thank you for showing us the way," he said to the Envoys.

"No need. We're here for you, Rowen. If you're having any problems adjusting, or anyone is giving you problems, just come to us and we'll help you."

"Thank you," he said again, wondering why they would go through all of this just for an Envoy that wasn't even human.

They turned and left, leaving him alone in the strange indoor garden with Julian, who was standing with his blind eyes closed, fingers slightly outstretched. He was probably- what _was_ he doing?

"Julian?" Rowen asked in an uncertain voice.

"What- oh, sorry. The garden feels- beautiful."

"Feels?"

"_Oh_. I never told you. I have a slight Gift of Empathy. I can feel things. Living things, really. It's the only reason why the Healers would let me go out after my- my accident." There was a slight hitch in his voice when he said it.

"What exactly happened?" Rowen asked.

Julian's tone was light, but it sounded forced. "Some drunken mercenary tried to kill me in a tavern on the Hardorn Border. He. . . tried to slit my throat, but I brought my head down and he got. . . my eyes, instead. Pretty good trade, huh?"

His following laugh sounded bitter, and Rowen suddenly pitied him, for all of his inner strength. What had been taken from this man along with his sight?

An awkward silence followed until Julian coughed uncomfortably. "Listen, that was--not polite of me, I'm sorry. I just let the sadness take hold of me, sometimes. It's--easier than dealing with the pain, sometimes."

"It's alright," Rowen answered him. "Listen--you're the only real friend I have here at Haven, really in all of Valdemar. Would you--" Now he felt embarrassed for asking, but Julian really _was_ the only one here that he trusted unconditionally. "Would you mind staying here in the Vale with me? The servants probably won't come near here, after all of the rumors that are bound to be flying around about me. They'll trust you." It sounded like a lame excuse, but the Bard apparently bought it, because his face brightened, and he smiled.

"Of course I'll stay with you. It gets lonely in my quarters, sometimes, and it feels so peaceful here." Came the reply. Rowen found his own face breaking out into a rare, small, smile.

"Thanks."

"Now, let's get you settled in before we go to the Council meeting."

Damn. He'd forgotten about that.

"How long do we have?"

"I'd say about one and a half candlemarks, but I could be wrong. You might want to get cleaned up before you go to the meeting. Is there anything here?"

"Pools," Rowen supplied. "A hot pool and a cold pool. But no towels." He looked around doubtfully. "I don't see any, but they'd probably be upstairs. And unfortunately, I can't get up there." He frowned. "Plus there's the matter of food…. could you call a servant?"

"Yes, let me just find out how to call one. That mage had to have had some way to call servants- they said he was so picky and full of himself that he wouldn't move himself to go over to the Palace to get someone. So obviously there must be something here. Unfortunately I can't see. I guess you'll have to be my eyes for this. Do you see anything that looks like it doesn't belong? Something not… plantlike? I tried Seeing it before, but it must be masked by the plants and disuse."

Rowen looked around again. "No. Hold on, I'm going to check the walls." He moved around the edges of the room, examining the walls, searching all around the edges, pushing bushes out of the way, peering under the branches of low trees. Finally he found it, near the staircase. It was simply a small white stone set into the dark pillar beside the door. Cautiously, he probed it with one finger, and it pushed into the rock and glowed blue. With a curse, he jumped back.

"What's wrong?" Julian asked him.

"I think I found it, but--I don't know. It's a little white stone near the door, and when I pressed it, it turned blue."

"Then I guess we'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, why don't you clean up in the pool and I'll wait for whatever comes?"

"Okay." Julian couldn't see him anyway, and there really was nothing to see. Sighing, he pulled his hair out of its ponytail and shook his head back. He walked over to the hot pool, and carefully dipped a hoof in. Not too hot, but enough to make his muscles relax. A small slope at one end served as his entrance to the pool, and he used it, gratefully lowering himself into the warm embrace of the water. There was a small bowl fused to the floor near the back rest rock, and to his inner delight, there was soap in it. Finally he could get decently clean!

He used the soap liberally, and it took all of what he used to get himself clean. He really hadn't noticed it before, but there were some places that were _damned_ hard to reach, like his under-belly area, the area around the croup, and the tail, to name a few. But eventually he got himself clean, and rinsed off by squeezing himself under the waterfall. Then he decided to soak for a bit before the servant came- if they came. He really hoped that someone would come. Having the strength and lower body of a horse might be a bit interesting, but it meant that if he got wet, he smelled like wet horse, which wasn't exactly pleasant.

After a while, there were noises at the door, and he looked up. Julian came in, laden with an armful of towels, followed by what appeared to be an extremely frightened servant carrying a large pot of soup. Rowen sniffed the air. Mmm, barley soup. He started to rise out of the pool. Big mistake. The servant froze, and his eyes widened perceptibly. Slowly, he put the pot down on the ground, rose, and bolted for the door, gabbling something in Valdemaran about a demon. Rowen snorted, and Julian started laughing.

"Sorry. I should have known the servant'd run off. Now there'll be rumors about the 'Evil Changechild Demon' that tried to catch and eat the servant who tried to bring him some dinner."

"Joy," Rowen remarked, as he stepped completely out of the pool. "Could you bring those over here, please?"

"Sure." Julian started walking in the direction of the pool cautiously, towels clutched under one arm, while Rowen directed him.

"Keep coming, rock right in front of you, keep coming… stop. Okay, you can put the towels down, now."

Julian put the towels down and Rowen grabbed one, and started drying himself off. After a half-dozen he figured he was dry enough to walk around without leaving puddles of water everywhere. Julian had sat on a rock next to the stream, lazily letting the water run over his fingers as the little brook ran past.

Quietly, so as not to disturb him, Rowen fetched the pot and brought it back near the hot pool, along with the bowls and spoons that he'd found behind the stack of towels. When he'd set the pot down, filled the bowls, and folded his legs under him like a horse, he gently reached out to touch Julian on the shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Food's ready."

"Oh, good." Rowen handed the bowl and a spoon to the Bard, and picked up his own.

"This is really good," he exclaimed after trying a bite.

"It should be," Julian replied. "They only use the best quality horsemeat, after all."

Rowen nodded. Best quality… Horsemeat! He started choking on the stew and Julian started laughing.

"Easy, I was joking. Are you alright?"

Rowen glowered at him even though he knew that Julian couldn't see it.

"Ha, funny."

After they'd finished their meal, (which took most of the pot thanks to Rowen's appetite,) he glanced at a water clock that he'd noticed while in the pool. Only a half of a mark left.

"Is there a brush around here?"

"Umm…."

"Wait, probably upstairs… do you think you could find it?"

"I can try. Where's the staircase?" Rowen led him to it, and Julian started climbing.

After a few minutes of scuffling noises up above, and a few loud thuds, he heard a shout of, "Found one!"

Julian came back down the stairs, clutching the rail the entire way, and handed the comb to Rowen. Gratefully he took it, and started brushing the knots and tangles out of his hair. He struggled with a few, but finally got through them, and smiled as he braided his hair back and tied it with a leather thong.

"Alright then," he said, still smiling, "shall we go?"

"Never hurts to be early."

Rowen took Julian's wrist again, and led him out of the Vale and back through Companion's Field. A few of the gorgeous white creatures came up to stare curiously, but he could detect nothing but a vague sense of friendliness emanating from their intelligent blue eyes.

When they were back in the courtyard, he looked around for a servant that might know where the room was. '_Looking, looking…ha! A page!_'

"You, there!" He called. The page looked up, and over at him. To his credit, he didn't scream and run in fear. Instead, he approached nervously. "Y-y-yes, Milord?"

"Boy, I am not a demon; I do not eat children until dinnertime. Can you tell me where I might find the Council Chamber?"

The boy looked petrified until Julian moved around Rowen's bulk. "Sorcha, is that you?" Sorcha's face brightened a little, and he wavered between looking at the Bard or Rowen.

"Julian, you're back!"

The boy ran over to hug the human, who said, "Sorcha, could you please take me and my friend to the Council Chamber? We need to get to a meeting there soon. It's very important." Sorcha's nose wrinkled, but he nodded and glanced again at Rowen.

"Sorcha," the page jumped at hearing his name. "Sorcha, I am not going to hurt you. Julian and I met while he was on his circuit, and we are very good friends. I do not eat babies, or children, all right? On my honor, I will not eat you."

Sorcha nodded again, and motioned for them to follow him. He led them through many different hallways, where people just stopped in the middle of what they were doing and watched him pass, some with fear in their eyes, but a few with respect. These were the Heralds.

When they reached a large set of doors at the end of a hallway, they stopped. This must be the Chamber. He thanked the page, who nodded back and watched him enter the room curiously, with no more traces of fear in his eyes. Inside the room were many people arranged around a horseshoe-shaped table. A few were talking quietly amongst themselves, and at the bend of the table sat Daren and a woman who had to be Queen Selaney, as well as Herald Talia. Near the fire place on the right side of the room stood a young man, dark of hair, wearing the robes of a Karsite. A large cream colored cat with orange markings on both face and paws was wrapped around his legs, staring up at the man's companion. The Karsite was engaged in an eager conversation with a man who was dark in hair color and complexion, and- Rowen's brain stopped working for a moment. A single thought floated to and rose above the surface of his swirling mind.

'_He's Shin'a'in_.'

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Hiro: Review, please. 


	6. Me, Myself, And A Voice In My Head

Reanna: You suck.

Hiro: What did I do now?

Reanna: You brought _that_ here.

Hiro: It's not mine! It followed me home from the bowling alley and Random wanted to keep it. Besides, he teaches me how to curse in Spanish. Look, he's semi-harmless.

Reanna: Semi-harmless! He tried to toast Chris when he suggested that Pepito go buy some new clothes!

Hiro: Heh… soul-toast…

Reanna: You _like_ him?

Hiro: Sort of…. He's cute. Oh, come on! He has the heart of a little boy!

Reanna: Which he keeps in a jar.

Pepito: Cute?

Hiro: Yes, cute. There _are_ reasons why I let him stay…

Pepito: Mainly being the thing on the other side of the Wall that calls itself Amber Stag.

Hiro: Don't remind me… Reviewers:

Wizard 116- Huzzah for the ever-present reviewer that has left their mark on every chapter so far…

Sarah- Thanks.

Ken- Thankies. :-)

Fireblade K'Chona- Thanks. o.o I have big people watching my story... I feel so loved...

Ashfur- Wait and see… if he trampled the courtiers, then what would serve as the ever-present grinding on Rowen's nerves?

Reanna: You and the things you do to him.

Hiro: … Touché. Now, off to plan my roadtrip…

NOTE: I have now realized that Valdemar does not border Jkatha. My apologies, I only realized when I was dividing my time between writing this and reading my recently-returned copy of Oathbreakers and was studying the maps in the front. Please try to now place Rowen's cave home way up in the Pelagir Hills on the Rethwellan/Valdemar Border. The Change-Circles dotend to transport things…

Any Shin'a'in language that you don't recognize, is Romany (gypsy language.) Mercedes Lackey used Romany as Shin'a'in, so that's what I'm using here. Translations are placed at the bottom of the page.

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**Chapter Six: Me, Myself and a Voice in my Head.**

"Rowen?" Julian asked him. "Rowen?" he shook the other's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

The Shin'a'in in turned around and started violently when he saw Rowen. Rowen walked forward, inadvertently dragging Julian behind him, attracting the attention of many in the room as he did, and stopped in front of the Shin'a'in, who paled beneath his tan as he recognized Rowen's coloring and the form of the horse body.

"_Li'sa'eer_! _Se tu de cu Manush?_" He asked in Shin'a'in.

"_H-hai. Eu Rowen shena Tale'sedrin,_" Rowen replied. "_Dar tu se_?"

"_Jarim shena Pretera'sedrin . Get'ke tumare trupos_?"

"A Change-circle," he said shortly, switching to Valdemaran. "I was scouting along the edges of the Plains with my horse; I was one of the scouts sent to survey the land and view to see where these Change-circles were occurring. We were returning home when we were caught in one of the Circles. It Changed us; melded us together, and transported us many leagues to the North, into the Pelagir Hills of Rethwellan. I stayed there for three years in seclusion, hiding myself successfully and staying out of the view of those who would have reported me. Then I met Julian, and-" he paused. "Well, you'll hear the whole of the story when the Council interrogates me. How- how have the Clans fared?" he asked, fearing the answer.

The other nomad eyed him, then answered cautiously, "They fare well; perhaps better than before, considering that our duty to guard the Plains is over."

The Heralds had brought him vaguely up to speed on this matter while they were traveling to Haven, but it had been bundled up, and he hadn't really been focused at the time. He would have to hear this story in its entirety, sometime soon.

His train of thought was interrupted when there was a commotion at the door, and a gigantic feathered mass strode in. A gigantic golden-brown feathered mass with a meat-hook in the middle of the face, wings tightly-furled to its sides, and four legs that ended in formidable talons sheathed in human-constructed wooden-tipped covers, and golden eyes. It abruptly stopped, and stared at him with a measure of interest in its eyes, and he knew that it was sizing him up. In turn, he trotted over to the gryphon, for that was what it was, and sized _it_ up. They were about the same size, and he might be able to take it on indoors, but he wouldn't want to get out in the open and fight with it; it was made for aerial attacks, and he'd be mincemeat in a second. They finished the sizing dance, and stood for a moment, studying each other.

The creature was a thing of beauty, but through its golden eyes shone personality, and intelligence, which it promptly displayed as soon as it opened its beak.

"Ssso, thisss is the oh-ssso fearrrsssome Changebeassst? A Change_child_, I ssshould think, and a Ssshin'a'in at that. I am Trrreyvan, and am mossst pleasssed to make yourrr acquaintance."

"I as well. I am Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, and may I present my companion, the Bard Julian?"

"It isss nice to sssee you again, Julian. I am glad that you brrrought him herrre; he may be verrry ussseful to the Alliance."

"Likewise, Sir."

So the gryphon _was_ a male. How did one tell sex between gryphons?

Another gryphon, a bit larger than Treyvan, came in through the door and looked at Rowen in surprise. He stared right back; it had the same eye coloring as Treyvan's, but it's feathers were a soft imitation of the other gryphon's; sort of dusty brown, with more gray than the other had.

"Hydona," Treyvan said, "thisss isss the Changechild. Hisss name isss Rrrowen ssshena Tale'sssedrrrin, and he arrrrived with Julian."

"Ah. Pleasssurrred to meet you, Sssshin'a'in. Pleassse, would you carrre to have a ssseat? Errr-" it looked embarrassed, and its nares flushed. "Well, would you carrre to ssstand with usss in the csssenterrr of the table?"

Rowen looked again at the table, and found it to be more than adequate to hold himself and the gryphons.

"Of course," he replied awkwardly, and they all moved towards the hollow in the center of the table, Treyvan between him and Hydona, and poor Julian still being dragged along by the wrist. Rowen was _not_ going to let go of his one sure ally, not at this dire moment.

Trotting alongside them was large wolf-like beast, with the head and pelt of a wolf and the body of a grasscat; and another, taller creature. This one was rather like a large upright lizard, with a humanlike hands, a blunt snout, and pebbled skin.

As soon as they were settled in the center of the table, the meeting began.

The blonde woman that Rowen had noticed earlier stood up and appraised him across the table.

"Changechild Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, do you know why you are here?" she asked levelly, her voice resounding through the room. All of the other humans in the room immediately ceased speaking and all but ran to their chairs. The Shin'a'in Ambassador and the Karsite were the last to take their seats, and the Karsite's cat jumped up onto the table, positioning itself right next to his elbow, and surveyed the room with amazing blue eyes- that reminded him, irresistibly, of a Companion's. Its eyes locked onto his, and he felt like the cat was somehow laughing at him. He started to glare at it and then shook himself- it was a _cat_! Just a cat.

:_Just a Cat?_:

Great, now he was talking to himself.

:_I assure you, child of the Plains, you are not._:

Fat chance, he told it, and faced the speaker.

"I was told that I was to be brought here for a trial period, after which I was to decide whether to become your Envoy to the hidden Changechildren," he said.

"That is the idea, Shin'a'in. And what part does Bard Julian play in this?"

"He was the one who brought me here, Majesty. He also serves as my guide and is assisting me to settle here," he answered, and she nodded, over someone's murmur of, "His _blind_ guide?"

"Would you please recite the circumstances that placed you in that form and brought you here, to Haven?"

"Yes, Majesty." And he began the tale of how he had been sent out from the Plains to survey the Change-circles around the Dhorisha Plains, with his saddle-horse, and had finished, and were camping for the night, when a Change-circle had occurred right where the horse had been tethered, trapping him, his steed, and his weapons, and melding the living creatures together, leaving the inanimate objects whole. His muscles had liquefied, bones melted, body and soul dissolved and he had fused with poor Gehdri. At that point he'd lost consciousness. He had awakened, in great pain from the fuse, on his side, with Gehdri's mind completely gone. He was alone. After learning to use the new body without stumbling, he'd managed to carve out a home for himself, and had quickly become adept at moving silently. Then he'd met Julian, being attacked by bandits.

Selaney suddenly stopped him in the middle of his story, and more people entered through a side door that he hadn't noticed. He didn't recognize the man that it took three of them to hold in place, but apparently the man recognized him, because he went dead white and started sweating.

"Is this the 'monster' that attacked you, 'Farmer' Wilkes?"

"Yes, milady! This be th' monster tha' attacked me wi'ou' warnin'!"

"Interesting," was all Selaney said, then, "Talia."

The Queen's Own stood up, and Selaney nodded at her. Talia stared first at the man, then at Rowen, and a faint blue glow appeared about the other man's head and shoulders.

'_Magic._'

:_Quite right,_: the voice in his head commented again.

He ignored it, and focused on Talia.

"Farmer Wilkes, state your full name, please," she asked politely.

"John Wilkes."

"What is your profession?"

"'M a bandit, ma'am."

The Councilors stirred, and a few started murmuring uneasily. Selaney hid a smile.

"And what were you doing when the- ah- _monster_ found you?"

"We was robbing the Bard an' Mac was thinkin' of keeping 'im as a pleasure slave."

At this, some of the Councilors looked outraged, and Talia looked at Julian, concern written all over her face.

"Did you manage to injure the Bard in any way?" Selaney continued.

"No- th' monster attacked us afore Mac could do more th'n scare 'im a little."

Incredibly, then man seemed completely unaware of what he was saying, as if they were hearing one thing come out of his mouth, and he another.

"What happened then?"

"Well, th' bastid comes runnin' at us and starts playin' tag wif us an' ar' 'orses, so we run and I come 'ere for 'elp."

"Right. Now, Changechild, please state your name."

"Rowen shena Tale'sedrin."

"Good. Your age?"

"Twenty five summers."

"Hmm. Relate your version of the events to the Council."

"I was patrolling my territory in the forest when I heard screaming and went to investigate. When I got to the scene, they had him surrounded, and the leader was standing in front of Julian, holding their faces together. I started distracting them, hoping that he would be able to get away, but I didn't realize that he was blind."

Julian's arm suddenly stiffened slightly in his grasp, and Rowen squeezed gently in reassurance.

"So I took him back to my home, let him stay for two days because of the thunderstorm, then took him to the road, where he set off for the next inn. About an hour later, Heralds Lisha and Kyndri arrived with their Guard troop, intending to destroy me. I left, and caught up with Julian, who explained to the Heralds what was happening. Then one of the bandits came back and shot us both, him in the shoulder and myself here." He pointed to the formerly wounded leg. "Then I subdued the bandit, and the Heralds and Guards took us back here."

"Thank you," Selaney said. "Bard Julian, is all of this true?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Well, then. Talia, you may dismiss the spell." The blue glow vanished from around the bandit's head. "Guards, take the bandit out. The Lord Marshall can decide what to do with him for lying to the Queen and Council. So, Changechild of the Shin'a'in, what shall we do with you?"

"Whatever you wish, Queen."

"Mmm. Might the other Councilors question you now?"

Rowen looked around dubiously. Some of the Councilors looked fearful, a few hostile. A few, including an old man who wore the symbol of a religious office smiled and nodded at him as Rowen's eyes passed over him.

:_The Lord Patriarch._:

The Karsite smiled at him as well, and nodded. The cat nodded too, and Rowen was starting to get a suspicion that this was no ordinary cat.

:_Too right._:

He cursed at the voice.

"Yes, Majesty, they may, as long as they are polite questions."

Some of the Councilors frowned, and the Karsite smiled.

:_I think that you and Karal are going to get along fine._:

* * *

Language: 

_Se tu de cu Manush?_ – Are you of the People?

_Eu Rowen shena Tale'sedrin. – _I am Rowen of the Clan of the Children of the Hawk.

_Dar tu se_?_ – _And you are?

_Get'ke tumare trupos? _– Can you explain your body?

Note: I translated this in the English sentence formation since I have no idea of verb/subject placement. (I failed Spanish class, too.)


	7. Do You Mate With Horses?

Reviewers:

Ashfur- You really want him? tosses bandit at you Have fun :-) (I would use the normal up arrows to make the face but for some reason they don't show up… neither do the asterisks...)

Fireblade K'Chona- It's to prove officially to the Council that Rowen speaks the truth and that the bandit's original testimony was false.

Ken- Thanks. They call their horses _jel'enedra_ and… can't remember the other word, but I think it means like 'wind-born sibling,' so I'm going to try to work that into conflict later on.

Wizard116- Huzzah.

Afreial- Tea for the nice ones and willowbark tea for the bad ones. . And maybe Julian's cooking for the stupid ones.

Julian: Hey!

Hiro: It's _bad_!

Rowen: Don't make judgement calls; you might find yourself on the other end of one.

Hiro: Quit quoting proverbs at me. And you're _biased_!

Rowen: May you get exactly what you deserve.

Hiro: Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom, Viggo Mortenson, and a tub full of whipped cream, cherries, melted chocolate, and chains, all in the same room?

Reanna/Rowen/Julian: O.O

Mischakitsune- Funny thing, that. My sister and I both noticed it, then she said immediately that it was Romany, then the other day, I did research, and voila! All of the Shin'a'in words that I put in were the same as Romany, with the same meanings. So now I have a nice, wide vocabulary to choose my words from. Oh, the joys of using a language from another world to use as your own. And you can't copyright a worldwide language….

Alright, then. EVERYBODY ON THE BUS!

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Do You Mate With Horses?**

Selaney nodded, and the Councilors began vying for who would ask the first question.

Jarim won out, and queried him in a clear, strong voice.

"Have you ever killed anyone in that body?"

"No."

"You have no horse instincts whatsoever?" asked a man a dun colored homespun shirt.

"No, as I said, Gehdri's mind vanished after the transformation."

"How doesss the horrrrssse body feel?" Treyvan asked.

"Different," he admitted. "It's… different, but it doesn't feel unnatural, not anymore."

"You have how many organs?" That came from a woman in deep green robes.

"Er- two hearts, four lungs, I'm not sure how many stomachs or other organs, but I'm sure that the Healers would be willing to discover that for me."

She blinked once, then smiled. "Perhaps we can reach an agreement."

"Indeed."

A few more questions were answered, then,

"Milord," the Karsite began in slightly accented Valdemaran. "Do you have any… mind powers, or anything of the like, that could cause a Companion to Choose you?"

'_Choose?_'

"Ah- not that I know of," he confessed. "I've never been tested, but nothing untoward has ever happened to anyone that I've been at odds with, so I would have to say no."

"Ah. What caused you to stay in the forest, instead of returning to the Plains?"

Rowen winced. This was a painful subject for him. "I cannot say exactly, Ambassador, however I will admit that it was fear of rejection and knowledge that feelings of repulsion and anger might overcome familial bonds."

The Karsite nodded, and Rowen turned to the next speaker, who was Talia, and it was more phrased as a request than a question.

"Rowen, might I come to see you in your rooms later on, to ascertain a few things, to keep doubt out of the minds of the other Heralds?"

"Of course," he answered politely. In truth, he didn't want to be disturbed, but if whatever she needed to know would keep more people off his back, then so be it.

The meeting lasted for another hour or so, with Rowen answering the important questions and ignoring the stupid ones, such as, "Have you ever eaten a baby?" and "Have you ever gotten the urge to mate with a horse?" and "Do you eat hay?" The horse stomach had been modified so that it could accept things that both a human and a horse could eat; meat, vegetables, fruits, most anything. His esophagus had not modified, however, and hay could tear the throat lining, so no, he couldn't eat hay.

And the question about mating with horses was ridiculous. If looks could kill, the Councilor that had asked _that_ question would have been dead and his soul scattered to the four winds. Rowen was _not_ a horse. Not precisely a human, either, but did a gryphon ever get the urge to mate with a bird? A _kyree_ with a wolf? It would be like mating with a simpleminded person; something not as smart as you, something less sophisticated, and something that was only in it for the urge to mate or the urge for pleasure. In his opinion, mating was a sacred thing, to be done with someone you loved and cared about, and was an added expression of your love.

He left the meeting with mixed feelings. Some of the Councilors had been quite decent, such as the representative for the Healer's Circle, Heraldic Circle, and the Lord Patriarch. The Karsite Envoy- Karal was his name- had proved to be an intelligent young man, though Rowen was still unsure of the purpose of the cat. Treyvan and Hydona were quite interesting beings, and had taken affront at those unintelligent questions, spitting the askers with stares that burned. The Queen had watched the proceedings, venturing intelligent questions of her own every so often. Talia was the same, along with Herald-Prince Daren.

The Bardic Circle representative had eyed him with some suspicion, and Rowen was sure that Jarim didn't know what to make of him. The common representatives, those for the farmers, herders, traders, and the like, had, he was sure, been afraid of him, although one or two had looked at him with speculation and a small smile of welcome. The Mages had been annoying, except for one man, Sejanes, who had turned out to be a representative of Hardorn.

After, the Healer had taken him to a small examining room back in the Healer's Wing, and asked him a few personal questions. Surprisingly, some of the questions that he would have taken offense to had they been asked by anyone else had seemed normal, as if he were commenting on the weather. She had scanned him, and announced that he had two stomachs, one in the horse body, one in the human, two hearts, four lungs, all of the muscles of each being, minus the neck of the horse and below-waist of the human. He was definitely a male underneath, with more muscles than either being had had before the melding. Healer Miriam figured that it was because the new body had to adjust for the added weight and added stress to the body. His backbone extended into the horse's, which in turn ended in the tail. Two sets of ribs, one brain, four sets of kidneys.

She had discovered a tiny, _tiny_ hint of Gehdri in the corner of his subconscious, that had allowed him to adapt to the body as quickly as he did. Then she'd finished the Healing of his leg, so that he could walk without any pain, and the muscles of that leg were completely without problems. After, she had thanked him profusely, and allowed him to leave without any questions asked.

He was now back in the Vale, setting up a medium-sized tent in the southwest corner of the garden, in a small patch of grass. Triangular windows provided the entire Vale with natural sunlight, and it cast a glow through the window as they set up. It had enough room inside for Rowen so lie down on his side completely, if he chose, along with some other items he'd asked for. Jarim had gruffly supplied him with a Shin'a'in blanket, and Rowen treasured it deeply. It smelled of horses, clean, fresh air, grass, and the smoky taste of the campsites. When he lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, he could almost imagine that he was home. The tent he'd gotten was also Shin'a'in, though it didn't harbor much of any of the smells of home.

Julian would be residing upstairs. Elspeth had helped him set up once the gabbling, annoying servants had brought his things. Rowen had hidden himself outside the Vale, in the trees, and still they had been full of fear. The page, Sorcha was among them, carrying Julian's instruments, and Rowen wondered if Julian had gotten him assigned to them, since the boy now exhibited no fear of them. He was currently with Elspeth and Julian upstairs, and Darkwind was down here with him, working some small magics on the doors to keep the insects out.

When they were finished, Darkwind went upstairs to help Julian and Elspeth, leaving Rowen to wander the gardens on his own. There were plants of _many_ varieties here, numerous ones in full bloom despite the fact that it wasn't their season outside. Night-blooming plants were releasing their fragrances as he wandered, and he breathed in deeply, savoring the unfamiliar though pleasant smells.

He found a special surprise in one corner; a small bed of grass that one could only find on the Plains, and two of the stunted tress that were found there as well. His eyes almost teared up as he welcomed the old smells of home. It astonished him that these could be found here. Whoever could force Dhorisha Plains grass indoors, and so far from their natural home must be a great gardener indeed.

Talia found him there, on his knees, simply breathing in the fragrance of the grass, reminding himself of what he had missed for so long.

"Enjoying An'desha's corner of the Vale?" she asked smilingly. He turned and greeted her. "Yes; it's amazing, and it reminds me so much of home."

She must have heard the longing in his voice, because she reached up one tiny hand to pat him gently on the shoulder, which she could only reach because he was on his knees. "Rowen, you honestly don't have to stay here if you don't want to. This is for our benefit, but some of us want to help you as best we can."

"It is- I _do_ want to go home, Lady, however- I gave my word that I would attempt to become the Envoy to the Changechildren, and I also promised Julian. I would not break my word, and especially not a promise." _To him,_ he silently added.

"Mmm." She stood next to him and enjoyed the peaceful moment with him, then asked suddenly, "Do you know who An'desha is?"

"No. His name sounds Shin'a'in, though."

"He was," she confirmed, "but he was so much more than that. He was a young Shin'a'in of fifteen summers when he left his Clan, to journey to the Tayledras to learn to control the Mage Gift that he held. You know the story of the Bloodpath Adept Ma'ar?"

He nodded. "He was the enemy of the Mage of Silence, when he and the Mage died, they caused the armies of the other Mage to scatter. One of the armies arrived down here, and the Sundering of the Clans occurred, and the Tayledras and the Shin'a'in have lived apart, yet together, ever since."

"Yes, but when the body of Ma'ar died, his spirit did not, and he took over the body of An'desha. Someone will tell you the whole story eventually, probably Elspeth or Darkwind, since they were there when An'desha was freed, but I will keep it short for now. The Mage gave himself the name Falconsbane, and lived in the forest near the Plains for a while, until he was defeated by the Gryphons, Elspeth and Darkwind, their Companions, Skif and his Companion, and Nyara, Falconsbane's daughter. When he was overcome, he fled using a Gate, and wound up in the Court of Ancar, former Prince of Hardon." Talia's face twisted, and he waited for whatever problem she was having to pass.

"When- when that happened, they joined forces, and when Ancar died, the Mage Firesong drove Ma'ar out of An'desha's body, and defeated him, destroying his very soul. An'desha came back to Valdemar for a while, and this is where the he and Firesong lived together, as lovers. That is why this is here. And- An'desha was like you; he was also a Changechild, though by force of will of Ma'ar upon his own body, in the shape of a humanoid cat. So you two were both in a similar predicament. He did not much enjoy Valdemar either, he was Shin'a'in, and you are both Changechildren, though the Star-Eyed Goddess changed his form back to his own, with the exception of his eyes and his hair. He was involved in the ending of the Magestorms, as was the Karsite Envoy Karal. That is why Karal is blind. An'desha is now living on the Plains, learning to become Shaman."

Rowen took a long while to digest this. Talia simply stood there with her hand on his shoulder. After several moments to think, he finally asked her, "Would it be possible for me to contact him?"

She smiled again, and said, "Of course."

He rose and nodded, and then Elspeth, Darkwind, and Julian came downstairs and there was no more time to talk. The lifebonded couple greeted the Queen's Own, and after saying goodbye to Julian and Rowen, they all left, leaving the two alone in the Vale.

"Rowen?" Julian ventured timidly.

"Yes?"

"I didn't want to ask this earlier, but- can I feel what you look like?"

Rowen was confused. "What?"

"Can I feel what you look like? It's how I create an image of someone in my mind. I need to feel your face, and I can place a picture of you in my mind."

He was startled by the request- but why not?

"Alright. Do you want to do it now?"

"Please."

"Come over here, then- no, let's go over here." Rowen led Julian to the hot pool, where he sat the young Bard down and folded his legs beneath him and made himself as comfortable as possible. Julian arranged himself into a crosslegged position, took a deep breath, and closed his blind eyes. Hesitantly, he reached out fingers that Rowen thought he saw trembling, but they were steady when they touched his face. Julian's slender fingers traveled the contours of Rowen's face, his hairline, strong nose, his eyebrow ridges and eyelids, his cheekbones and jaw. They traced the outlines of his lips, and moved back to Rowen's slightly pointed ears. The calluses on the tips of his fingers felt smooth as silk to the warrior's features. Julian's hand fell to his shoulder and lightly skimmed his biceps, running back along the under arm to Rowen's chest. The sensation roused something in the Changechild, and before he knew what he was doing, he had caught Julian's wrist and trapped it, Julian's fingers still splayed in the middle of his chest.

"That's enough," Rowen said gently. He hoped that his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought.

The Bard nodded silently. "Your face," he finally whispered. "It's so strong, but so tense. It feels like you never smile, and I can only think that it's because you've had so little joy in your life."

"You are a great reader of faces, Julian," Rowen murmured. He _was_ stern looking, and had been even when he'd been back with Tale'sedrin. His parents had died of a fever when he was fairly young, and nothing that the shaman could do had been able to save them. He didn't have any siblings, and was left alone at the tender age of nine.

Rowen was not a scholar, but he was more learned than the average warrior. He'd walked his own path, and studied and trained with an intensity that had startled, then delighted his teachers. By the time he was sixteen, he'd been serving as a full scout, and by the time he was eighteen, he was a full warrior among the Shin'a'in. Not as well trained as a Kal'enedral, but his skill came frighteningly close. He'd actually almost been able to beat one of the Swordsworn, but the goddess-chosen had pulled an unexpected move at the last second and Rowen had ended up sprawled in the dust.

As a result of his parents' dying fairly young, Rowen hadn't had any brothers or sisters, and was not close with many of the people in the Clan He'd always tried to distance himself, but his cold façade had failed to impress three people.

Sa'heera, a young woman two years older than him. Most of the other Clan members had suspected a romance; they shared nothing but a strong spirit-sib bond. Nadar. The bright young seven year old had attached himself to Rowen for reasons unknown, and made Rowen his proxy older brother, presumably to make up for the male sibling that he'd never had; all of his sibs were girls.

Jadrek, the Clan shaman, had made himself sort of a surrogate uncle to the orphaned Rowen, but the boy had never felt comfortabssle. Whether it was the magic, or the fact that Jadrek was the son of Kethryveris, who had repopulated the core of Tale'sedrin almost by herself, he had always felt like he was never alone with the man, like someone or something was watching them. Sa'heera would be… twenty-seven now, and little Nadar would be nearing thirteen. Oh, how he missed them.

"You feel sad," Julian observed quietly. "Is there someone back home that you miss?"

"A few people," Rowen replied softly. "An older spirit-sister, and a younger brother."

"Ah. I have my father and one brother- he's older than me, and Gifts seem to run in the family; he's a Healer stationed here at Haven, but we've never really been close. Father was never exactly pleased with certain… preferences I had, and Rojer usually sided with him."

'_Preferences?_'

Julian seemed to realize that he'd said too much, and ended the conversation. "Well, it's getting late, and we should be getting ready for bed."

"Right…"

Julian headed towards the stairs, then turned back just as he reached the base. "Rowen?... Thanks."

"Thank _you_, Julian."

"G'night."

As Rowen drifted off to sleep in his tent, breathing in the faint smells of home, he listened to the strange sounds of Valdemar. An owl hooted softly on the other side of the window, and he could hear Companions moving around the Field outside.

'_Sa'heera once said, 'May you live in interesting times.' If I ever see her again, _she_ will be living in _too_ interesting times...'_

And with that final thought, he drifted off to sleep in this strange, new land.


	8. Sul'enedral

Alright, due to Etcetera-cat's much appreciated review about my errors, I've revised this chapter, as well as Chapter Nine, and what little I had of Chapter Ten. Just a coupla errors that can be fixed semi-easily, so I'll quit rambling and here's the fixed chapters.

* * *

Yo. Here's the next chappie. I think I've figured out the name for Scroll-Sworn, since I've never seen it mentioned. If it has been, then I guess I missed it somehow, sorry. The literal translation from Romany for 'scroll' is Sul, and that sounds about right, so there you have it. Sul'enedral.

Reviwers: Kieren- Thank you.

Kuroneko-tyger- HA_HA_! FINALLY SOMEONE GOT IT! It took what, two weeks until someone FINALLY got that? Wow. Congratulations! chucks a box of cookies at you

Fireblade K'Chona- :-P

Ashfur- shrugs maaaaybe, maybe nooooot…

Faeborn2930- I'm still trying to figure out why everyone is assuming that this is gonna be a RowenJulian fic. I can't remember if I said anything really overt, or what. Maybe it's just the fact that I usually slash the two main characters… Anyhoo, maybe, maybe not, as I said before. Not saying yes, nor no. Just wait and see.

Breezefire- . I'm just happy that you reviewed. Thankies.

Wizard116- :-)

Me: #dancing# for-ty-one review-ews, for-ty-one review-ews, W00T!

AmberStag: Did you just say 'woot'?

Hiro: Yes. Yes I did. Roll it!

* * *

**Chapter Eight:Sul'enedral. **

About two months later…

Rowen, and by default, Julian, were speaking quietly with Treyvan and the young Sun-priest Karal inside the Council Chambers after a Council meeting, when Herald Kyndri, accompanied by young Guardsman, entered the room. He strode right over to the group, greeted each of them individually, then turned to Rowen.

"There's a small delegation of Shin'a'in from the Tale'sedrin Clan that wants to meet you, Rowen. I believe that they want to reassure you of acceptance back into the Clan. It is comprised of… let's see… the Clan Shaman; several of the warriors, on battlesteeds… a Healer… oh, and there were also a few Shin'a'in from other Clans that wanted to meet you; all Shamans, I think. Pretera'sedrin, For'a'hier, Liha'irden, Jor'ethan, and Vuysher'edras, to name a few. There was also a young woman with them- she was rather _insistent_ on seeing you. Her name was… Sa'heeri, Sa'hura, Sa-"

"Sa'heera?" Rowen interrupted. "Sa'heera shena Tale'sedrin?"

Kyndri nodded. "That was it. Now, if you'd like to come with me…?"

"Of course."

Rowen excused himself, and brought Julian to the door.

"Julian, would you like to come to meet some of the Shin'a'in, or would you rather stay here? Herald Kyndri can take me to where they are, and I'm sure you're tired of me dragging you around."

Julian smiled gently. "I'll stay. This is something you need to do on your own, anyway." He patted Rowens arm, and slowly moved back to Karal and Treyvan. Rowen watched him go, then turned back to Kyndri. "Let's go."

The Herald led him through a maze of halls that seemed familiar, then only vaguely familiar, and then not familiar at all, as they transversed into a completely new part of the Palace for Rowen. After he was completely lost, they made one final right turn, entered through a door, and Rowen suddenly found himself the target of a dozen pairs of eyes, some familiar, most different, but all set in the same ethnic face; bronze skin, high cheekbones, and an angular face, surrounded by long, thick hair, but there was a difference between many of them; the eye and hair colors. Some of the nomads had the usual dark hair and ice-blue eyes typical of the Shin'a'in, but a few had green eyes, and blonde or russet hair, or a combination of both the new and old traits. Those would mostly be the members of Tale'sedrin, although a few were members that had joined other Clans. He himself had the green eyes that were a genetic trait introduced into the Clan by the Mage Kethryveris.

Now most of the other recipients of that trait were in this room, and those eyes were all staring straight at him. Or straight at him at a high angle, rather. He was still taller than everyone else in the room. He recognized most of the people in the room, including his quasi-uncle, Jadrek, who was conferring with several other older Shin'a'in; they were all wearing the clothing of the Clan Shamans that Kyndri had mentioned. So that accounted for the Shamans, and the warriors scattered throughout the room; a few Swordsworn were among _them_, the Clan Healer, a few of the Tale'sedrin that he recognized. Now the only one who was missing was Sa'heera.

Oh there… she… was…

Sa'heera had _changed_. When he'd left, she'd been a golden-haired, blue-eyed young beauty, fresh with life, and full of energy. Now- she was still brimming with energy and life, but all of it wasn't hers. Sa'heera was pregnant, and fairly far along, from the looks of it. She pushed her way through the small crowd, and- wait, Sa'heera was _pregnant_?

How- when- _who_- She interrupted his thoughts with a whispered, "Rowen?"

He focused on her eyes, startled, and he could see her jump, minusculely, and the crowd quieted.

"Sa'heera, I-" he began in Shin'a'in.

"Rowen- what- what _happened_ to you? They said that you'd gotten caught in one of the Change-circles, and that you and Gehdri- had been Changed, but _Rowen_, this is- almost too amazing to believe! You're not a horse, and you're not quite-" then she cut off, realizing what she'd almost said.

"It's alright," he said. "I know that I'm not… not _human_ anymore. I'm not a beast, and yet I'm not a human. I'm something in between."

"You're _new_," she said. "You're something new. You're not much different." She offered him a small smile. "You're still the same Rowen I know and love, even though you're not in the same body- er- half of it, anyway."

"And you're still the same annoying sister," he murmured.

At the small bickering, Rowen's 'uncle' stepped forward. "It is good to see you again, Rowen."

"_Hai_, and you, Shaman."

Jadrek stared Rowen in the eyes; not an easy feat since Rowen was nearly three feet taller than he was. His eyes searched Rowen's for a long time, and Rowen wasn't aware on anything outside of those probing green eyes, shadowed by gray-gold hair, and set in a face that was painfully familiar. Finally, after what had to have been at least a quarter of a mark, he spoke. "Rowen, know that you are welcome back into the Clan at any time. I know you; I knew you then, and I know you now, and I believe that you are the same man who left us five summers ago. A bit changed, yes, and perhaps hardened to life outside of the Plains, but still- you are the same young Shin'a'in warrior. Will you accept our proposal, and our welcome?"

For a long moment, he couldn't respond. They were actually welcoming _him_ back into the Clan? _Him_, a monster? When he found his voice, he decided to speak his mind.

"Shaman, pardon my rudeness, please, but are you _mad_? I am not _human_; I am not the same man who… left. I have been twisted out of all recognizable form by an ancient magic that ravaged the land, I've been trapped in a body completely unnatural to this world, and yet you would still welcome me back into the Clan? You would welcome this _monster_ back into the Clan?"

"A monster, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin? Is that what you are? From what all these people have said, I would have thought better of you. You berate yourself, and question the decision of your Clan _Shaman_. You call yourself inhuman, when you proved yourself to be exactly that when you saved that Bard from the bandits. Your body may have changed, yet your heart, soul, and mind have not. I have never met you, and yet I know this. Rowen, you are still human, and humane, whatever you call yourself. The only crime of which you are guilty is being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Goddess knows that I, myself, am guilty of that."

The speaker finally stepped forward, and Rowen almost automatically made a deferential bow to the Crone-Sworn that stood before him. The handsome young man in question had silver hair, which was quite unusual for one of the People, yet far stranger were his eyes, a silvery color, that were slitted exactly like a cat's. The pupils expanded, and then contracted as they focused on him.

"You have heard my story, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin. I am Sul'enedral An'desha shena Jor'ethan, and I was also… a Changechild. As you can see by these, of course." He gestured towards his strange eyes.

"The Star-Eyed changed me back, when I regained my body, for after risking soul-death, and for assisting with the downfall of what would have been, She apparently considered me deserving enough to receive my original body back, despite my cowardice, and despite the changes wrought upon it that made me look like a lynx. I cannot promise you that She will change you back, nor will I give you false hope, but I tell you this; no matter what changes were forced upon you in that Change-circle, and no matter what your form, you are still the same person you were before. Perhaps with different instincts, but inside, in your heart, you are you, not anyone, nor any_thing_ else."

Rowen just nodded. So this was the infamous An'desha that Elspeth had spoken of. He bowed as best he could, then made eye contact with the Scrollsworn again. "Thank you, Sworn One. Perhaps you would like to visit the Vale in Companion's Field, sometime during your visit?"

"That would be most excellent, thank you." An'desha smiled, suddenly. "Then perhaps we can trade tales of our various misadventures involving our Changes, heyla?"

Surprised, Rowen nodded. "When can you come?"

"I can try to come sometime tonight, but I doubt it, as I'd like to catch up with Darkwind, Elspeth, and Karal, while I'm here, as well as speak with the Envoy Jarim. I can come tomorrow evening, though, after dinner."

"I will be there."

"Agreed. May Sa'heera also come? There are things that I would like to say to her- to both of you."

"That is fine."

When An'desha moved away, Rowen only had time to mouth, _we need to talk _at Sa'heera, before the Shamans descended on him, and he was emptied of information on what had happened to him, and given information on what he had missed. A Shaman would fire a question at him, and he would answer it, then ask one of his own, and another two Shamans would ask questions, and he would answer those, then make another inquiry, and it went on like that, for what seemed like hours, until they were all satisfied, and he was left, mentally exhausted, but mind's thirst quenched, for the moment, and the Shamans had their answers, at least until they thought of more questions.

Finally he just stood there, absorbing all of the information, legs locked, and mind turned inward, while Herald Kyndri spoke with the Shamans on where they would reside for the duration of their stay. He was so unfocused as to what was happening around him that he nearly bucked at the light touch on his arm, and when he looked down, he saw Julian, one hand on his arm and the other clutching a lute case, and Sa'heera, standing a little ways off, watching the two with speculation in her eyes.

"Julian," Rowen exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at the meeting."

"Everyone went back to their rooms two marks ago," Julian calmly informed him. "When you didn't show up, I asked Sorcha to take me to where all the Shin'a'in were, and heyla, I'm here. You didn't miss much, other than Karal and Treyvan getting excited when they heard that An'desha came, too. Did you speak to him, at all?"

"Yes. Ah- would you mind if Sa'heera came to speak with me tonight, and perhaps stayed overnight?"

A flash of something unpleasant crossed Julian's face, but he covered it quickly, and said, "Certainly. Will anyone else be coming?"

"Just An'desha, tomorrow night," Rowen replied absently, half-wondering what was wrong with Julian.

"I'll tell the cook to send some extra food, then."

"Thank you."

Sa'heera approached them then, almost shyly, which was quite unlike the Sa'heera that Rowen knew. "Rowen, who is your friend?" she asked in accented Valdemaran.

"This is the Julian, the Bard that convinced me to come back to Haven for a while. Julian, this is Sa'heera, my sister."

"Oh! Your sister- I didn't realize- it's very nice to meet you, Lady."

"Please, Bard Julian" Rowen could tell that she was close to laughter, even while he wondered why. "Call me Sa'heera."

"Then call me Julian." He smiled at her, and then his eyebrows lifted. "You're pregnant?"

"Ah- yes."

"By who?" Rowen demanded. Not many men were good enough for Sa'heera; this would probably be someone special.

"Clopin shena Vuysher'edras, from Kata'shin'a'in. We've been together since two years after you left. Nadar misses you a lot. Jadrek said that he couldn't come, and he ran off somewhere. He hasn't done it lately, but he did it after we found out you were missing, and he didn't come back for a month. When you left- I think something inside him died. He hasn't been the same, and he really loved you. No one's been able to fill the hole in his heart that you left."

A wave of guilt washed over Rowen. How many people had he hurt by not coming back?

"Jadrek says that he'll come back after a while, but I don't think so. After Nadar came back after the first time, he stated to the whole camp that he hated you, and every time someone mentioned you, he'd completely deny your existence. I don't know what he'd say if you ever came back but-" her eyes filled up. "You have to try to come and bring him back. Please. It's just not the same. We used to be our own little family, and you were gone, and he's been so distant- please," her voice faded to a whisper. "You have you help us find him. Please."

He was almost overwhelmed with sorrow, and he reached out and pulled her to him, being careful of the baby inside her, and gently cradled her against him.

"I'll find him, Sa'heera. I promise, I'll go and find him. I'll get him, and I'll bring him back here."

She nodded tearfully, and hugged his waist.

'_I'll find you, my brother, if I have to run to the far edge of the Plains and back. I'll find you. Just hang on. _'


	9. Unlock your Heart

Yeeeeees, etcetera-cat, and here is your answer to your review…

Erm… the Brytha/Brutha question first: page 85 of Storm Breaking: '_punctuated by the staccato clicking of Brytha's cloven toes._' So that, at least, is correct.

You were correct about the word '_dyheli_' not being capitalized. It has since been fixed.

The time-to-get-to-Plains-thingy: I am _so_ sorry. I committed a horrible mistake and based all of my distance/time estimations on Magic's Pawn's Vanyel-going-to-Haven-for-the-first-time thing, and I missed the very important sentence, '_It was quite enough to keep him wrapped in silent, apprehensive thought **for every day of the remainder of the journey**, and to keep him sleepless for long hours every night._' Yes, I was being a dumbass yet again, and, yet again, I apologize.

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Seven more pages to add to the growing story that is Circles of Change… 

I know I'm disappointing One Week fans, but I had to get this up; I spent hours researching stuff for this, and had to explain once again to the librarian that I never saw those Abraham Lincoln books. (Really, I haven't.) They've been annoying me for over two years to return them, and every time I borrow something, I have to waste twenty minutes explaining that I already sent it to Claims Return. Not to mention this huge headache that I've had all day that… five cans of Diet Coke isn't exactly helping at 2 in the morning… But enough of the ranting. My point is don't complain; I spent way too much time on this to… #trails off#

… … …

Whatever, I forget.

Some of you might be wondering why I wrote the entirety of this thing at 1:30 am. There's actually a very good reason for that; I'll let you know when I think of a logical one.

Fireblade K'Chona- #cries# You called my story a work of art!

Wizard116- That's gotta be the longest and most descriptive review I've ever gotten from you. Not that I have a problem with that!

mischakitsune- #feels honored#

Breezefire- Yesh. The jealousy just makes the story more complicated.

'Why does Julian have to be so complicated? The way he's actin' really has got Row'n frustrated…'

Reanna: _Not_ Avril Lavigne… .

Pepito: But I _like_ Avril Lavigne.

Hiro: You would…

Notes: If I've messed up on any of these facts, or I'm going too far with some of the ideas, someone _please_ tell me. I have no intention of going beyond the boundaries of believability (if I haven't done so already…)

And I honestly don't know that Brytha would have been able to do the language-implant thing to Outlanders, and I couldn't check, since the upper floor of the local library's been closed because the roof fell in. (I have no idea.) so if I'm wrong about that, tell me, _please,_ and I'll fix it.

I also don't know when Bards go out on their Journeyman… journeys, and I don't have my copy of Magic's Price on hand right now… Amber Stag borrowed it.

One more thing; I'm not very good at writing travel scenes i.e. stuff like pages 45-130 of Storm Warning. In fact, I suck at them. I'm sure that you don't want fifty pages of just walking and talking, so I didn't do that. So here's the story.

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**Chapter Nine: Open Up Your Heart and Let Someone In. **

Five days later…

The Council had fought, the Council had refused, the Council had come to close to several screaming matches, and the Council had finally elected to let Rowen go, with a guard.

"Well, that was marginally easy," Julian sighed from his position atop his horse, remembering what had happened before they were allowed to leave Haven, and shifted in the saddle. A few quick equestrian lessons hadn't been enough to knock off his dislike for riding, and he already felt saddle-sore. They were about half-way to the former Tale'sedrin campsite, and Julian hadn't enjoyed most of it. The only things distracting him from complete annoyance were Sa'heera's almost nonstop conversation and Rowen's incessant worrying about Nadar, the boy they were going to find. Not to mention the bell-like tones being produced every time that Inyam's hooves hit the ground. Julian never got tired of hearing them, and he was almost able to put himself into a light trance when listening to them. Sa'heera had exclaimed over them nearly the entire first day of riding, until Lisha had explained it to her. Lisha was keeping a close eye on the female Shin'a'in, even though she seemed fine. Sa'heera really shouldn't be riding in her condition; Rowen, Julian, _and_ Elspeth had agreed on that, but it was inevitable that she go; because Nadar most likely wouldn't trust Rowen straight off the way he was now, and Julian himself was an unknown, and not someone a young boy would likely be very eager to make friends with. Not to mention that amongst the three of them, Sa'heera was the only one who could get them through the Plains without much trouble.

It wasn't that the Shin'a'in wouldn't let them pass through, it was just that Rowen would be likely to raise a lot of questions, and possibly be followed or even stopped by the well-meaning guardians of the Plains. Not that there was much left to guard, with all of the mages working in the tower in the center of the crater to disarm the few remaining weapons, and Kal'enedral guarding Tayledras Mages with strong Magesight searching the rest of the Plains for more problems buried under the earth itself.

Getting away from the Council itself hadn't been easy, because half of the Council had been convinced that Rowen would make a run for it once he got out of the boundaries of Haven. The other half were divided between trusting Rowen (mostly Elspeth, Darkwind, and the Heralds, joined by Karal and the Gryphons and Outland Envoys, Karal's Firecat, Altra, a few of the Healers, Bards, and _all _of the Shin'a'in,) and the ones that thought that he would turn wild and attack his companions when he saw the opportunity. Thankfully _that _group was small, with only a few of the Commoner Representatives and one of the stuffy older nobles set in her ways. Treyvan and An'desha were working to disabuse them of the notion, but when the rescue party left, they weren't having much success.

An'desha and Karal, conniving together, had managed to convince Altra to Jump them to the edge of the Dhorisha Plains one at a time, which had cut months off their trip. Rowen had initially balked at using an apparent cat to allow them to move from Haven to the Plains in the blink of an eye, but with persuading from An'desha and Julian, he'd finally given in, and Karal had said that Altra had enjoyed himself while messing with Rowen's head before and during that first Council meeting. Altra had grumbled good-naturedly before apologizing to Rowen, who had shakily accepted it and made himself scare in Altra's presence. Apparently the fact that Altra had spoken in his mind and made him think he was quite possibly going insane had frightened him a little, though he wouldn't admit it. After Altra had Jumped them all, (which was an experience that Julian would _not _care to repeat,) and after his stomach stopped insisting that it'd been left in Haven, Altra had promised that he'd come back for them when Lisha contacted Haven. Then he'd vanished, leaving them alone at the edge of the Plains, under the bright mid-morning sun.

Now they were on the middle of the Plains themselves, past the area that had served as Rowen's home not even a month ago. Sa'heera and Julian were both mounted on Shin'a'in palfreys, bred for both speed and endurance. Rowen was the only one among them qualified to ride a battlesteed, but obviously he was able to provide his own transportation. Julian's mount was one of the Clan's horses that had been lent to him for the trip, and he was extremely grateful for it; a normal horse would have foundered under their current pace, and this palfrey was a sweet creature, placid and altogether stoic, and not likely to spook at anything.

It had taken them three days to get this far across the Plains, and it would be another one or two until they reached the campsite itself. So, two days from here, but if they really pushed it, one.

Julian shifted again, and tried to think about other things than riding for so long and hard until he hurt. Rowen had postponed a meeting with An'desha and another with all of the Shamans, and Council meetings for two weeks. That was how long that Rowen, Sa'heera, Jadrek, and An'desha had thought that it would take to find Nadar. Julian would have stayed out of the whole thing, but Sa'heera had asked him to come, and Julian didn't really want Rowen to leave without him. Plus there was also the fact that Herald Lisha had also asked him to come. Kyndri had stayed in Haven, teaching a class on Changechildren, and Lisha was the only Herald that knew and trusted Rowen, and had the Gift of Animal Mindspeech. That would be useful in finding Nadar, because birds- especially birds of prey- had excellent eyesight, and might be able to see Nadar where human vision could not.

Lisha was there because of a compromise made with the first half of the Council. They had agreed to let Rowen leave if a Herald was with him, and Lisha was the only logical choice, since she was fluent in Shin'a'in, which she obtained when the _dyheli_ Brytha was in the Haven. She and a few of the other Heralds, and two Healers had approached Firesong, and asked him to ask Brytha if it was permissible, after Lisha had heard that the _dyheli_ could do such a thing. Brytha and Firesong had consented, and, using the late Shin'a'in Envoy, Querna, had had the language implanted in their heads. Most of the Heralds and the Healers were now in positions where they might come upon Shin'a'in, where the language would be useful, and the three Heralds who had opted for Tayledras instead of Shin'a'in were serving as Envoys to the Kaled'a'in and the Vales.

Now, however, she was useful as an authority in Valdemar, however, _that_ little bit of usefulness had ended five days ago, back when Altra had Jumped them here. Now, however, she was just another sword with a pretty white horse.

Julian sighed again and turned to Sa'heera. "So, what exactly makes you think that Nadar won't come back this time?"

"It was what he said," she told him in accented Valdemaran. "He declared Rowen dead, outcast, and… he declared him Oathbreaker and annulled all of his oaths to Rowen. Then he tore off his Hawk pendant, flung it to the ground, and declared himself dead as well, and he just left." She sounded frightened. "All other times he just up and left without reason, but this time he sounded serious. And the removal of his medallion… it was completely unlike the old Nadar, and I'm really scared for him, for Rowen… for all of us, really. Rowen signifies a great change to the Clans, and I can only wonder what's next. Nadar… Rowen, Nadar, and I were really close, spirit-sibs, you might say, despite the age difference between us and Nadar. Rowen saw Nadar and I as the siblings he'd never had, and Nadar looked up to Rowen as the older brother that didn't exist. I just saw them as the true family I'd always wanted since I was adopted into Tale'sedrin from Firefalcon Clan nine years ago. Firefalcon had a different way than most of the other Clans; they produced the most Shamans, and the occasional Mage. You could say I was the gray sheep of the family, just a normal Shin'a'in child with no magical tendancies whatsoever. In short, I was my mother's disappointment after my father died. My brothers and I still keep in touch, but I've never gone back to Firefalcon, even though the rest of the Clan had no problems with me; it was just the bad feelings between my mother and me."

Julian gave her a sympathetic expression. "All I've got are my father and brother, and I only speak with my brother on occasion; he and I were never close."

"What about your father?" she asked.

His mouth tightened. "Father never agreed with my choices in life. I always wanted to be a Bard, and he wanted me to go into the Guard, just like he did; just like Rojer didn't- _couldn't_. My brother's a Healer, and a Healer on a battleground is never a good thing. I hate fighting, but Father never saw it that way. He wanted me to go into the Guard to become a man, not stay at home playing music and reading all of the time. He never liked Yentan, either. He was my… my friend, and he and Father never agreed, even though he was in the Guard. He died when I was fifteen, from a bandit raid on his eighteenth birthday. When I was sixteen, I went to the Collegium and presented myself for training. I was a little old to begin training, but I knew how to read and write, and could read and write music as well, which was more than a lot of Bards could say when they came. I finished the schooling when I was seventeen and a half, and set out on my Journeyman period, assigned to the Rethwellan Border.

"Six months after that, I was in an inn, playing my lute for board and food. A mercenary stumbled in… and drank himself into a mood. He asked me for a song I didn't know- Morrison's Jig- ironically, I took the time to get it down perfectly after that, I don't know why. He didn't like that, and when I stood up to stretch my legs, he punched me, and I went down. He jumped on top of me, and I couldn't get him off. He… he tried to slash my throat, but I brought my head down… and he got my eyes, instead." He lifted his head, letting her see the thin, pale vertical line that crossed his face from temple to temple, interrupted only by his light eyes. Most people missed it, shadowed by his blonde bangs as it was. "That was three years ago," he finished quietly.

He was startled to feel her hand clasping his, and her voice whispered, "You're alive, and that's what matters. A lot of people care about you, Rowen included."

Julian thought about the occasionally cold Shin'a'in, now accompanied by the image that he'd built up in his mind of the man's face- angular planes, strong features, and a mouth that hadn't smiled in a while. Green eyes and shoulder-length sable hair, confined in a ponytail, sitting on top of a human torso… that joined with a horse body at the waist. That was the one image he had yet to reconcile, but he was working on it.

"How far along are you, Sa'heera?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Let's see… about eight months. The baby's due just after the Summer Horse Fair." At Julian's blank expression, she took pity on him. "It's right before Midsummer."

"Oh. Do you know what it's going to be?"

"The Clan Healer knows, but we want it to be a surprise."

"Any hopes?"

"Well, Clopin's sort of hoping for a boy," she said, "but I don't really care what the baby is as long as they're healthy."

"That's sweet," he said. After that, Lisha rode up to speak with Sa'heera some more, surprisingly not about Nadar, but about female things- babies, men, jewelry, and the like.

He let the horse drop back a bit- the animal knew to follow Sa'heera's mare, and he turned inward to think about some songs that he'd picked up before he met Rowen, and to digest some of the information about Nadar. If he was a thirteen-year old nomad, running away from home, where would he go?

The morning after the next, they were supposed to be close to the site, and Julian was pretty useless, considering his lack of sight to find the camp, and his Empathy was useless when looking for an abandoned campsite. Rowen was understandably nervous, even though his Clan had moved to a new encampment a few days before. Sa'heera was now in the lead, being the only one among them to have been at the campsite, and from the sounds of it, they were minutes from finding it.

'_Scratch that,_' he thought. Make it seconds.

"There it is- they've covered it well, but I still see it!" she called back to the others.

They sped up a bit, and Julian was glad that they were almost there. He was _sure_ that he had oozing sores on his buttocks and inner thighs, and even though he was used to the pace, it didn't keep him from wishing that they had a cart or something of the like to use instead. He would have even preferred walking to this. Oh, well. The horses slowed and abruptly stopped, and he heard the others dismounting. He swung his leg over the saddle and carefully felt for the ground, wincing at the feel of having his legs a reasonable distance from each other.

"So, now what?" he asked Sa'heera.

"Well, after Rowen stops twitching at every noise, we'll start looking for signs of the boy."

Julian sighed. He wasn't going to be much help at this, since he couldn't see.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm not much of a tracker, so I'll help you set up base camp," Sa'heera said.

He heard her rummaging around in the bags, pulling things out.

"We only took the one big tent, but we shouldn't need it. The weather ought to hold, but if it doesn't, well, we'll set it up and all crowd in. Let's just get a fire pit set up, and then we can take everything off the horses and let them roam a little. Between the two of us, I think Inyam and I can keep them in line."

"Alright. Er- where do you want me to start digging?"

"Well, first we have to cut out a lot of the turf for a short distance around the pit, or it could start a grass fire."

Well, that made sense.

"Do you want to show me where to dig while you cut the sod?" he asked.

"Sure" She gave him a small collapsible shovel, pointed out the area and demonstrated how big she wanted the dimensions, then left him to his work. He dug for a while, enjoying the feel of the earth between his fingers, while Rowen and Lisha searched the ground in the direction where Sa'heera had said that Nadar had headed off into. Julian had just finished the pit, and was piling the rest of the dirt carefully around the pit in the area that Sa'heera had already cleared, when a cry from Rowen turned everyone's heads.

"He came back after the Clan left. He came back- and they were all gone. What would he have thought?"

"He knew where the next campsite was, Rowen." Sa'heera pointed out. "He rode off once before while we were moving, and found his way back to the camp then."

"But they left while he was missing. What would you think if you came back and they were gone?" Rowen retorted angrily.

"I would move on," Sa'heera said. "I would go to the next campground, and if they weren't there, I would wait. Then, if they didn't arrive, I would ride to another Clan and ask them for help."

"But he's just a boy! A young, angry, alone, and probably very frightened boy!" Rowen half-shouted.

The shouting match escalated as they both switched to Shin'a'in, and Julian was about to say something, when Lisha intervened. "Listen to yourselves! Your bickering is not going to find Nadar, and indeed, if he's anywhere near here, you two have probably scared him off with all of your shouting. Do you want to find him, or not? Calm down, let's have something to eat and finish setting up camp, then we can decide what to do."

Apparently both of the Shin'a'in agreed, because there was some shuffling amongst the packs and a few hoofbeats against the ground near Julian.

"I'm going out to look for wood," Rowen announced. "I'll be back in a little while."

True to his word, Rowen reappeared some time later with a lot of wood, which he set down next to Julian, who was now lining the pit with some bricks that Sa'heera had given him.

"Thanks."

Rowen just made a noncommittal noise, knelt down, and started breaking sticks and placing them within the hole.

"Is something wrong?" Julian asked after a while. "Besides the obvious, I mean?"

"It's just… Nadar. He's all alone out there, and probably frightened to death, but what if- what if he doesn't like me the way I am now?" Rowen confessed. "What if he sees me as a monster, just like those bandits did? He'll probably be even more terrified of me than he is of anything else, and he'll run from me. If I go after him, that'll just make it worse, and if I _don't, _he'll completely renounce me forever, and this time he can do it, since he'll have seen me alive."

Julian considered the problem, and finally came up with a suggestion.

"Look. Was Sa'heera afraid of you?"

"No, but she-"

"Was Jadrek afraid of you?"

"No. But he's a-"

"Was _I_ afraid of you?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

Julian wanted to scream, and maybe slap the Changechild. "_No_," he said forcefully. "How could you think that? There are many things that you are to me, but fearsome is definitely not one of them."

"Oh."

But Julian wasn't finished. "You are one of the kindest, nicest people I've ever met. You've never made me feel bad about my sight, you gave me shelter when I needed it, you gave me food, you saved me from _bandits,_ you trusted me to keep the Heralds from killing you, and most importantly of all, you gave me a friend. How _could_ I be afraid of you?"

There was a pregnant silence, and Julian was suddenly afraid that he'd said too much.

"Rowen?" he ventured timidly after the quiet became too heavy to bear.

"Hmm?"

"Oh- never mind, I thought there was something wrong."

"No, Julian. There's nothing wrong. I'm just… I'm touched by your trust in me. It moves me that you find me kind. Most people would not use that word in a description of me, even if it was a thirty-page dissection of my life."

"Maybe that's because most people don't bother to try and see the real you," Julian said quietly.

"No… it's because I don't let them in," the quiescent horseman said.

"Then maybe you should let someone in." The normally tactful Bard let the words slip before he knew what he was saying, and he nearly clapped his hand over his mouth in horror.

There was a heavy silence, then finally- "You're right, Julian. I should open the door to my heart. Maybe there's someone out there who can fill the void. Somewhere…"

And without another word, he rose and left Julian alone, next to the now-full fire pit, in the darkness of the encroaching night… and the permanent darkness around his world.


	10. Drop Your Guard

Once again, it's almost five in the morning and I am writing. I think I'm turning into Nny… 

Oh my god… over fifty reviews have come in on this story and I am left blinking and wondering what it is that I did that was so great… But thank you all, and thank you to etcetera-cat, my fiftieth reviewer. This chapter is dedicated to you. ('cause you're special :-P)

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Replies to Reviewers: 

Faeborn2930- I smile…

Wizard116- No! I like longer reviews from people. It lets me know that they've read, comprehended, and love it so much that they want to comment. Not that I'm complaining, of course. :-P

Fireblade K'Chona- #sweatdrops# Yeeeeaaah… right….. umm re-read Chapter Nine; I fixed the problems there. Sorry 'bout that.

Mischakitsune- You and you alone wait for that day comparable to the Day of Reckoning that is #gulps# tomorrow. Now, far, far ahead of the sixteenth, (okay, not really) is your update :-)

Etcetera-cat- Thou shalt find thy review in Chapter Nine, over yonder…

Sarah- :-P

Amber Stag- I am not a fop. I am what I am, and I'm many things more than you think. A fop is, fortunately, not one of them. In other words, _Yo es non un foppo, y tu es muy, muy, muy estupido, _baka_ nina deshi. _

Anon-weehee- . #bows#

And folks, we have now officially reached the double-digits in chapter numbers. Thanks for stickin' with me.

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Notes: 

Dear Stansfield,

just a brief reminder:

my salary has not been paid.

Send it care of the ghost,

by return of post-

Whoops. Wrong note, sorry. Um, I'm not too battle-scene writing-savvy, so just bear with me on all battles. Maybe I'll get better with time. Er- if someone wants to give me a hand with those, I'd be much obliged. Thanks.

Also: I need a beta-writer/editor. Any volunteers?

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Drop Your Guard. **

Early the next morning, after a not-so-restful night, Rowen roused the camp and tried not to think about what dangers might have befallen Nadar.

Lisha and Julian crawled out of their bedrolls looking almost as disgusted as Rowen felt once they figured out the time, but Sa'heera looked sickeningly refreshed.

"So," she spoke in Valdemaran. "Do we go?"

"This is an unholy hour," Lisha protested. "But shouldn't someone stay with the camp?"

"Normally- no," Sa'heera said. "But given the fact that we need to someone to coordinate the search effort from here, I think that it should be… well, not me. I'm the only one here that Nadar might trust."

Rowen felt something inside him twinge at the statement, but he stifled it.

"So," she continued. "Rowen can go farther and faster than any of us, being his body is suited for the Plains- sorry, Inyam; your hooves aren't suited for the grasslands. So he's got to go. Plus he'd probably abandon the camp and make for where he'd think Nadar would be the second we turned our backs." She said wryly.

Rowen had the grace to blush, but no more than that. "True, sister. I am going, and that leaves Lisha and Inyam, and Julian."

Sa'heera took her cue to continue. "No offense, Lisha, but Nadar is definitely not going to trust you, being an Outlander and all..." she trailed off, looking uncertain.

"That's alright, Sa'heera. I can Mindspeak the birds from here and see what they know. If I'm lucky- does he have a horse?"

Sa'heera looked intrigued. Apparently she hadn't heard of Animal Mindspeech. "Yes- he has Canan. Another palfrey, but he was one of the ones bred specifically for speed, so there's no chance you could catch up, even on Inyam."

"I understand that. If I look for a horse mind that responds to Canan- then I'll tell it to come back to the camp as fast as possible, so the boy doesn't have the chance to jump off."

The Plainswoman grinned. "Great idea.

"Since you'll be staying here, Julian- I understand that you have the Gift of sensing other people and living things?" When the Bard nodded, she smiled. "Good. You'll come with me, then." Julian looked surprised, but nodded again. "Welladay, then. We'll come back after midday for a break and food, and we can discuss anything new then. For now- let's ride."

Sa'heera and Julian mounted up, and they set off with Rowen in the direction that Nadar's horse's tracks led.

Rowen studied the tracks at a small spring carefully. He'd split off from Sa'heera and Julian two candlemarks back, and he wasn't having much luck. Sa'heera and Julian had gone after one set of tracks, and he another. This new complication annoyed him. Why would Nadar's horse's tracks lead off in two different directions? The tracks crossed a small stream running along a slight ridge, but on the other side- upstream, they'd gone off in one direction, and downstream, another. He'd decided to take the downstream set, and they the upstream. His own trail was leading him towards the wall of the Plains, on the opposite side than Kata'shin'a'in. Hopefully they were having better luck than him; his tracks hadn't ended yet, but he had a feeling that they were going to end soon. What he didn't know was whether they would end as a false trail, or in Nadar. At this point, it could be either. Knowing Nadar's penchant for tricks five years ago, he'd picked up the skills to lay such a trail, but Rowen couldn't be sure.

Right now, anything was possible, and he-

There was a not-screech some distance in front of him, and he stiffened. It wasn't the screech of a human, and certainly not an animal. It sounded- like something inhuman, but more than that, it sounded absolutely furious, and he sped up his pace a little, drawing his swords. It sounded again and he forced his legs into a full gallop, finally stopping as an extremely odd sight met his eyes.

Situated on the wall of the ancient crater, about twenty feet up was a small ledge, barely large enough for a human to lay upon, yet a human it held. On the ledge, firing arrows for all he was worth, stood _Nadar_. The beasts he was firing at were moving fluidly around the rock base, and occasionally a few would jump and attempt to scale the rock, or make a dive for the path that Nadar had obviously climbed, but it would wind up with an arrow for its pains, and either fall off the cliff or slink away into the tall grass. They appeared to be mutated deer, but Rowen wasn't sure. While they had the overall body shape and heads of deer, those claws definitely weren't for walking around in a forest, and the fangs that appeared whenever one of the things opened its mouth convinced him that, whatever they were, they were most definitely _not_ herbivores. One of the wounded ones nearly vanished into the grass, presumably to join its other injured fellows, but he didn't give it a chance. He moved silently yet swiftly through the grass to its side, and with a clean sweep of one sword, cut off its head. There was a scream from one of the creatures at the rock, and answering shrieks from somewhere out in the grasslands.

A dozen more injured- _things_ boiled out of the grass, and there was no more time for thought- just action. He turned into a deadly whirlwind of slashing blades and kicking hooves as the beasts converged on him, and they fell, one by one, into the dark embrace of death, eyes glazing over and blood bubbling out of mortal wounds.

He engaged with three of the fell deer, slashing and slicing and fighting them all at once. Another jumped at him from behind; he rear-kicked it and it went flying off into the brush. A fifth jumped on his back, digging in with it's claws, and he had to rear several times- exposing his vulnerable underbelly- to get it off. He finished with the first trio, and whirled around before it could move, and with a scissor-like motion, severed its spine at the neck.

He was a killing machine, consumed with bloodlust and overtaken by the need to _kill- kill-killkillkill them all-_ until there were no more left, and the fog that had clouded his mind abruptly dissipated, leaving him clear to think- 'Is Nadar okay?'and analyze- there was a horse corpse below the ridge, mostly reduced to bones, and what was left of Shin'a'in tack- obviously by the creatures- and to hear muffled exclamations from the ledge.

Slowly, Rowen raised his eyes to meet those of the boy on the rocks, and lowered his weapons, still clenched tightly in his hands, to hang down limply at his sides. He felt drenched in blood, and he probably was- his weapons gleamed with various bodily fluids, and all that he could see of his body was red, and he had numerous cut, scratch, and bite-marks along his body.

Nadar stared down at him, and Rowen stared right back. He knew he must look like a _real_ monster, hair matted and sticky with blood, and probably covered in dirt, mud, and mostly blood- none of it his- not to mention the horse-body.

'_There is no way he'll ever trust me after this,_' Rowen thought miserably, as he continued to lock gazes with the now quite pale Shin'a'in boy.

Slowly, ever slowly, he approached the cliff face, being sure not to make any sudden movements. Nadar's dinner-plate sized eyes remained fixed on him, and Rowen despaired of ever befriending the boy again. The silence grew, and reached unbearable levels, and suddenly he couldn't take. In what had to be one of the stupidest things that he'd ever said in his life, he called up to Nadar. "Do you have any spare cloths?" he asked in Shin'a'in. "I'm afraid I'm rather covered in blood, and I'd like to get some of it off before it dried."

While it wasn't the greatest conversation-starter, it had the effect he'd wanted, and jerkily, Nadar reached behind himself and rummaged around in an obviously Shin'a'in traveling-pack that Rowen hadn't noticed before. He tossed two pieces down, one a rag, and the other a small, quick-drying towel. Rowen nodded, and swiftly wiped the blood off of his swords with the rag, before sheathing them and starting to try and mop some of the red fluid from his face.

When he'd finished, he looked at the rags distastefully. They were now stained a brownish color from the drying blood. Rowen's nose wrinkled, and he tucked them into his belt.

"Ah- You are Nadar shena Tale'sedrin?" He called up hesitantly.

"No." The boy answered coldly. "Nadar shena Tale'sedrin is dead. I am Alendinor."

'_Oh, boy. He really has declared himself dead. This is not good. And this is not the Nadar I knew. Where is my brother?_'

"Well, then, _Alendinor_." He decided to humor the boy. "Since all of the- the things are gone, would you like to come down?"

"Whyfor?"

Rowen frowned. "It can't be very comfortable on that rock. Look; you can't even sit down. Shouldn't you be with your Clan?"

Nadar's face hardened. "What Clan?"

"Tale'sedrin. The Children of the Hawk. As you are."

"I am not Tale'sedrin. Nadar was, but he is dead now. I am Alendinor," Nadar insisted.

"If you are Alendinor, then who am I?" Rowen decided to probe that area and see what reaction he got.

He got less than he bargained for.

"I don't know. Shouldn't you tell me?" This was definitely not the Nadar he knew.

"I am…" Rowen almost lost his nerve, but regained it and continued. "I am Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, returned to the Clans after five years of wandering alone. I know you, and I know that you know who I am. Drop the act. You are Nadar shena Tale'sedrin. I am Rowen." He decided to ditch his own bravado act.

"Nadar… don't you recognize me? I'm changed, in more ways than one, but… I'm still the same old Rowen. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. Please- I'm Rowen, nothing more, and nothing less."

Nadar stared at him. "Well, you sure are ugly."

Why that impudent little- Rowen's temper flared. "And you're still the insolent little brat I left behind, kid. The Goddess only knows why I ever watched out for you, impertinent piece of…" he trailed off, seeing Nadar's eyes getting even wider. "Come back to the camp with me?" Rowen half pleaded. "You can leave again if you want- I'll even supply you with a horse if you want, just please- come back to the camp for the night."

Slowly, Nadar nodded, and tossed his pack off the ledge after fastening it. It landed in the blood-clumped dust between two of the deer things, and Nadar landed heavily after it after climbing halfway down, bow slung across his shoulder and few remaining arrows secured in their quiver. Rowen noticed that the boy tried not to stare at him but was having trouble doing so, and had resorted to watching Rowen out of the corner of his eye.

"Relax, will you?" Rowen snorted. "I don't eat children. I am not the Snow Demon." He pointed at the horse half. "Horses don't eat meat. I am not fond of meat. I like vegetables, and the occasional rabbit. Nothing more."

At the mention of meat, Nadar looked at the body of the horse lying on the ground. Rowen's heart immediately softened as the boy's expression fell.

"Best see to Canan, Nadar." He whispered softly.

Nadar edged over to the gelding's corpse, and ran the last few steps. He knelt down at the horse's side and ran trembling hands along its muzzle. Nadar squeezed his eyes shut for a few long moments, and he appeared to come to a decision. Rowen watched in sympathy as he deftly stripped the horse of whatever tack remained, heedless of the congealed blood that stained his hands. With tears running down his dirty and smudged face, the boy looked around at the bodies scattered about the area with a look of despair. He glanced back down at the body and sniffled, wiping his arm across his eyes and smearing his face further. Reverently, he picked up the tack and carried it over to a small boulder. With an innate understanding, Rowen stepped over, and together, they moved the boulder aside to reveal a small hollow in the earth. Nadar crouched in the middle and started digging at the earth, and when he'd made a hole about three feet deep and about the same width, he stopped, picked up the tack again, and went back to the hole. The young Shin'a'in lay the tack inside lovingly, running his hand over the tooled leather one last time. He piled the earth back over gently, patting it only once to ensure that it was down, and moved out of the circle. They moved the boulder back over it, and Nadar walked back to the horse corpse. He knelt down beside it, and the tears continued to pour down his face. He whispered something into the horse's ear that Rowen, for all of his enhanced hearing, couldn't hear, and closed its sightless, staring eyes. Then, finally, he stood, grabbed his pack, and faced Rowen.

"I'm ready," was all he said, but Rowen knew that there were many other things left unsaid. He let it rest.

They got back to the camp an hour past the agreed-upon meeting time. Needless to say, Sa'heera and Lisha were angry, but Julian was panic-stricken. To save some time, Rowen had carried Nadar's pack, but they still returned late. The two women were staring pensively into the fire, and Julian was pacing back and forth at the edge of the campsite. Nadar looked slightly frightened at the sight of the campfire and slowed his steps a little. Gently, Rowen leaned down and placed a hand between his shoulderblades and pushed him forward a little. At the sight of the boy, the two women gasped and rushed forward as one to usher him to a seat by the fire. Sa'heera looked over her shoulder and gave Rowen an accusing glance, then pointed to Julian and mouthed, _Do something. The poor boy's been frantic with worry. Then come back. You're injured. _Rowen nodded back and jerked his head back at the boy, then wandered over to where the Bard was pacing. Julian had stopped at the noises from the fire, and Rowen silently crept up behind him, which was not an easy thing to do- not in this body, and not in the tall, rustling grasses. Somehow he got there without making a sound, and stood behind Julian quietly, pondering what to do. After a few seconds, he decided on a direct approach and just grabbed the Bard's shoulders and spun him around, intending to apologize for being late. Julian gasped, tripped, and fell backwards within a heartbeat, landing on his rump in the dust.

"Rowen I-" he gasped out as the mentioned Changechild helped him sit up.

"How did you know it was me?" Rowen asked. Julian couldn't possibly known that he was over here…

"Empathy." Julian tapped his own temple, and Rowen immediately felt stupid.

"Oh," was the only thing he could think to say.

The younger man snorted. "You're late."

"I had a passenger."

"So I'd noticed. So that's Nadar?"

"Yes."

"Sans horse?"

"The horse is dead."

Julian's eyebrows shot up. "How?"

"These… these beast things. They were almost like deer, but more… more… beastly than any deer I've ever seen."

"Changebeasts?"

Rowen's mouth quirked. "Possibly. I'm not quite sure, anymore. Of course, we could take one of the bodies back with us for your Mages to examine. The entire herd _is_ dead, after all."

"Dead? You killed all of them on your own?"

"Well, not exactly. Nadar killed a half a dozen, but there were probably about two or three dozen in the herd. I didn't exactly have time to count."

"One and a half to two dozen! And you weren't killed!" Julian exclaimed. "But you're- you're hurt. Why didn't I notice that?"

"Perhaps you were too busy worrying?" Rowen suggested delicately.

Julian's nostrils flared. "He's injured and he still has the strength to joke," he muttered. "And you smell like blood and horse sweat. Go have Lisha take a look at your injuries," he ordered gruffly.

"Something wrong?" Rowen queried. The Bard seemed a little crotchety at the moment. Of course that could always be due to worrying over Rowen. Or sitting and walking in the full sun for several hours. Or he could have hit a particularly sharp rock when he sat down. Or… There were dozens of reasons, and Rowen didn't exactly have the temper to consider them all at the moment. The bloodlust was still hovering in his mind, despite the hours that had passed since its zenith.

"No, nothing."

"Good. I'm going to wash off, then."

Rowen turned from the sitting Bard, and left the camp to travel to a stream that he knew was nearby.

After he'd washed all of the blood and grime off of himself, and decided that his wounds weren't as bad as he'd feared; certainly nothing to need looking at, he returned to the camp with an aching head and a slight feeling of nausea. He figured that it had to be from the bloodbath and the fact that he hadn't eaten, except for a sketchy breakfast eaten while on the trail that morning, and ignored it. After he apologized to Sa'heera and Lisa for being late, he discovered that he was being largely ignored by Nadar, who was still adamantly refusing to admit that Rowen was alive, much less less than twenty feet away. Lisha had produced a stew, and he and Nadar ate with gusto, the boy in a manner that suggested he hadn't eaten a good meal in months, which he probably hadn't.

After Rowen had eaten, the queasiness subsided somewhat, but his headache increased tenfold. '_It's probably just something that was in what I ate this morning,_' he told himself. Unfortunately, it decided to prove him wrong by having his nausea come back with a vengeance about a candlemark later, forcing him to make a hasty retreat to the edge of the camp before he lost all of the contents of his stomach in several not quite gut-purging heaves. When nothing was coming up but stomach acid, he wiped his mouth and returned to the fire and met several pairs of concerned eyes.

"It's nothing," he assured them. "Probably something I ate." Lisha looked at him skeptically from her position leaning against Inyam's back, and Sa'heera just gave him an annoyed glance that read, _you're just playing macho so cut it out,_ which he promptly ignored. Nadar refused to look at him, but he did lean over to whisper something in the Herald's ear. Her eyes widened quite noticeably, and she did a remarkable impression of Nadar when he was on the ledge, considering that she hadn't been there.

"Rowen," she said, voice trembling slightly. "Could you please come here for a second?"

He obliged wordlessly, kneeling down before her so she could speak to him at eye level. Her eyes did not focus on him, rather on his back, and any remaining blood drained from her face.

"Oh Bright Lady, no," she whispered.

Curious, he turned his head to view the horse back. All that was there was fur, the spine ridge, the tail. Hee, the tail. He flicked it once, watching it fly up and down. His tail was funny. He looked at his back. It was all cut up. So what? A few scratches and bite marks weren't going to do anything. Silly Changebeast deer things, thinking that they could harm him. What could harm Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, mightiest of warriors?

Lisha's voice caught his wandering attention again. "Rowen, can you hear me?"

"'Course I can hear you."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good, you're okay. Listen- Nadar said that his horse wasn't brought down by attacks. Well, it was, but poison weakened it considerably before it died."

'_Poison?_'

"Are you in any pain?"

"Me? Pain? Nohohoo. I'm fine. Bright and dandy, in fact. Just dandy. Dandy, dandy daaaandyyyy."

"Uh-oh…" She turned to look it Inyam, and they both exchanged that _look_.

For a few minutes, they looked into each other's eyes, using that silent, wordless communication that the Ever-Mighty Rowen envied.

"What'cha dooooin?" he asked.

"Er- Rowen, now that we've got Nadar, I think it's time to head back to Haven."

"Don't wanna go. I wanna stay here," he said petulantly.

"Not a good idea. Pack up camp _now!_" She called. "Rowen's been poisoned!"

The camp flew into a frenzy of activity, and Rowen watched from the sidelines, occasionally attempting to move, but his body wouldn't obey him. That was funny. He started laughing at the absurdness, and soon he couldn't stop. He was laughing uncontrollably and knew, in his heart, that this was _wrong_.

'_Oh, sheka._'

Soon, a pretty white cat with blue eyes and orange markings on its face, paws, and tail popped out of nowhere next to him, and he vaguely recognized it.

:_Rowen? Rowen, can you hear me?_: A strange yet familiar voice said into his mind. Somehow, that seemed completely natural, so he just answered it.

"Sure I can!"

:_Rowen, listen very carefully to me. I'm going to Jump you back to Haven right now. The Healers are waiting for us, and so is An'desha. Rowen, can you hear me? Rowen!_:

'_Rowen? Is that my name?_' he wondered muzzily as he slipped into darkness, laughing quietly. '_So pretty. Rowen…_'

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Hiro: #blinks# Well, that was rather random… 


	11. A Mother's Advice

So sorry for this being so late, folks.

Thank you to Mischakitsune for beta-reading this, and once again, thanks to all of the readers who stay with this, through internet failure and writer's block.

Wizard116- As evidenced the quote: "It's funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's hilarious!"

Fireblade K'Chona- A moth, indeed.

Mischakitsune- This is quick?

Oceanmate- Wet noodles are yummy with marinara sauce :-P

Justwitchy- /nodnod/

Notes: This may be getting way too outré, but whatever. E-Mail me if you've got problems with it, advice, or have noticed something that is not adhering to canon rules.

Just so y'all know, the multiple equal signs will now serve as (hopefully) permanent scene-switch indicators.

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**Chapter 11: A Mother's Advice. **

Gods- what was _wrong_ with Rowen? He'd come back to camp, dragging a frightened young boy behind him- but Rowen was injured. From what Julian had been able to make out, there had been monsters attacking Nadar, but Rowen had killed them all. That explained the blood-scent in the air when he'd come back. He'd bathed soon after, then returned again, but hadn't talked to Julian. The blood-removal had uncovered a new scent in the air- a sickly-sweet smell that smelled of rotten apples and too ripe fruit- Julian had noticed it, but no one else had, so he'd decided not to mention it.

Then a few minutes later Lisha had yelled to pack up camp immediately- that Rowen had been poisoned. They'd all pitched in- even Nadar- and thrown everything together, all the while watched by a bemused Rowen, who laughed with a horrible sound that sent chills down Julian's spine. The laughing was hysterical, and only stopped whenever the Changechild paused to gasp for air. Then he would go off again, in another round of madness-induced hysteria.

They had packed up the camp within a matter of minutes and waited anxiously for Karal's Firecat to come back. Julian had sat by the baggage and tried to sense Rowen's emotional state- perhaps try to reach him and extend some comfort, but Rowen…. he had no longer been there. Not like an unconscious person, but like a doll. The lights were flickering… but no one was home. This had caused Julian to go into a state of panic, and he'd very nearly overextended himself trying to find the Changechild's soul in the little time they had left.

Altra had popped into the middle of the now empty camp and announced to all present that there were Healers waiting back home. The Cat had Jumped the now unconscious Rowen first, he being the one most in need of aid, followed by an anxious Sa'heera with the supplies, and finally Julian with the horses. Nadar was staying behind with Lisha and Inyam so he could lead them to the bodies of the Changebeasts and fetch one, and then Altra would come and Jump them and one of the bodies back, for examination and to perhaps concoct an antidote for the poison.

When Julian had reached Haven, a servant had been waiting to take the horses, and Altra had gone trotting off down the hallway back to whatever it was that he'd been doing before Lisha had called, but not before telling Julian that Rowen had already been borne off to Healer's on a litter, and Sa'heera had gone with them. He'd turned those sparkling blue eyes onto a face that could never see them, and spoken once more.

:_You should rest, Bard. It would not do for you to fall sick as well. Your friends will need you more than you could guess. Get some willowbark tea, too. You overused your Gift in searching for the boy. Go back to the Vale. Someone will come for you soon._: And with that, he'd left, and Julian had fallen into a daze, blindly wandering the corridors until a servant spotted him and asked him if he needed assistance. When he asked her to bring him to the Vale, she had brought him to the entrance to Companion's Field and left him there. He traversed the grassy length alone, with feet that felt like stone and a heart that felt like solid iron. He slumped through the door, dropping the pack he just remembered he was carrying, and found his way to the edge of the hot pool, merely sitting at the edge, trailing his fingers through the water, trying in vain to find some hint of Rowen. That was where the Queen's Own found him, some time later.

========================

"Julian?"

He didn't move, but raised a hand in, and vocalized his greeting all the same.

"Queen's Own."

"I'm not going to lie to you, Julian. There is a good chance that Rowen may die."

His voice was hollow. "I know."

"Do you want to see him?" she asked gently.

"No. He's not there."

Talia frowned. "What do you mean, he's not there?"

"It's like-" she could sense him groping for the words. "An Empath can sense the emotional state of a person, as well as their physical state. You can, and even though my Gift is small, if I know someone, I have a tie to them- I can sense them if they're within a reasonable physical distance. But Rowen... I've been able to sense him since the first time I met him. Now I can't, and he's _just not there_. And I've tried, ever since I got back. I can't find him anywhere!" He knew he sounded hysterical, but he didn't care.

"Julian, calm down." The reassuring voice of Talia broke into his frenzied thoughts, and slowed them. "If his soul isn't there, it should come back eventually. Some of the Mages from Outkingdom do that to themselves- they go into a heavy trance, and send their souls out from their bodies, to Elsewhere. Then- when they've done what they needed or wanted to do, they come back, and they're fine." Her face took on a speculative look. "Perhaps he's gone… I'll ask An'desha- he would know."

"Know what, Lady?"

"If Rowen's gone to the Moonpaths."

"Moonpaths?"

"But Talia would say no more on the subject.

========================

Rowen drifted in darkness so deep it felt like he was in the deepest dungeon of the lowest-dwelling creature on Velgarth. The inky darkness pressed in on him, pressing- pressing all memory, thought, and sense of self from him. The small part that was left screamed-

And he found himself on a path of shimmering silver sand, with opalescent mist surrounding him. The mist gently drifted around him, and he felt the sand shift between his boots as he cautiously took a step forward- wait. Boots? He looked down, not daring to breathe, and he saw himself as he once was- human.

_-No, My child. You always were human. You have been, and you still are.-_

A woman appeared on the path in front of him, and Rowen felt himself kneeling in a gesture of obeisance that could not convey his sense of humility.

_-Does it feel better to hear those words from My mouth?-_ the Goddess asked. Not Kal'enel, the Warrior of the Sworn, but ­­the Mother. Her eyes were as the night sky over the Plains- black and speckled with stars, and they were creased in a slight smile.

"-but I thought-"

_-That you were not of the People anymore?-_ She frowned. -_Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, how could you think that? What happened to you was unexpected, yes, and unfortunate, but you never stopped being human. You had the opportunity to go mad many times, and turn into a mindless animal, intent only on satisfying your own desires, yet you did not. You were never banned from the Plains; you banned yourself, fearing rejection and your new appearance, and shunned all human contact. It took someone who was blind to the visual world to show you that you were still human. It is amazing what a simple gesture of truth can do,-_ She mused, face smoothing into a neutral expression.

Affection?

_-When you return to your body, it will still be Changed, My child. However--_ She paused, and Her face took on a significant look. -_There exists, in the heart of Valdemar, aside from your te'sorthene, and the affection of all that know you, an unrecognized and unvoiced yet powerful love which may yet help you forestall the darkness moving to envelope Valdemar and all of her allies, and more. This enemy will become known to you soon enough.-_

"But when will I know?" he cried, feeling incredibly lost.

_-You will know,-_ She said. -_The enemy comes soon; be ready. But do not willfully ignore love unlooked for, for in the end, it will be that love which will give you something to live for.-_

Then She and the mist and sand all vanished from his sight as his spirit left the Moonpaths, and he felt himself falling _down_, then _in_-

Rowen awoke to pain in his head and the horse back, and burning sensations tingling along every inch of skin, both horse and human. He gasped and jerked, sending his back into an agonizing spasm. Pain twisted his face, and a gentle hand laid itself on his forehead. He sensed two more hovering over his back, and together the three muted the pain into a dull, aching sensation instead of the sharp twisting that had assailed his back a few moments ago. The hand on his forehead was soothing and felt cool to his fevered skin.

He opened his eyes, and as he fully realized that he _was_ back in his own body, he clenched them shut, the knowledge that he was back in the warped body that had been twisted beyond almost all recognition by wild magic sending a dagger of sorrow that drew a line for a single tear to escape from one tightly closed eye.

The Healer in front of him must have thought that it was a tear of pain, for the dull throbbing increased for a moment, then slowly faded as the Healers poured more energy into him, healing the cells and speeding regeneration.

All of the poison that had infiltrated his body was gone now, leaving him feeling weak, but better than he had been, with no headache or stomachache, and no sudden urges to lose the contents of his stomach.

It was a relief, but- thought hit him, and his mind was filled with questions. Where was Julian? And Sa'heera, Nadar? What of them? What about Lisha and Inyam?

He opened his eyes again to see the backs of the Healers leaving the room, and the relieved face of Sa'heera staring at him. '_Well, that answers that question.'_ But what of the others?

"Rowen?" She looked like she was going to cry at any moment. "How are you feeling?" she asked in Shin'a'in

He grunted. "Better than I was." At least he wasn't having any problems speaking his own tongue. "How long have I been out?"

"Two days. You were thrashing around so much that the Healers had to sedate you, and there was a big argument on that since they didn't know anything about your body chemistry, and-" She leaned forward and hugged him gently over the round bulk of her belly. "Oh, Rowen. I was so scared that we'd lose you." She shuddered, and Rowen wondered just how close he'd come to embracing the Star-Eyed.

"Lisha and Nadar got back a while ago, with one of the bodies of the- the things. The Healers were able to get a sample of the poison from its claws, and when Nadar told them exactly what happened to Canan, they knew what to look for. The main problem was how much sedative and medication to give you- your size, and even Healer Miriam didn't know what you would need. In the end, they cleared out as much poison as they could, dosed you with half of the antivenom that they managed to concoct for a human, then the other half enough for a horse. It seems to have worked."

"But what about-" he started in Valdemaran to see if he still had the command of the language.

"Nadar is _fine_," she said. "So are Lisha and Inyam, and myself." She joined him in the odd, stilted language of the northerners.

"Julian?"

"Ah. He wasn't fine, but he seems to have recovered. When Altra brought him back, one of the servants found him wandering the halls, and brought him back to the Vale."

"Oh."

"He was very worried about you, Rowen."

'_If he was so worried, then why isn't he here?'_ Rowen wondered, a bit selfishly.

"Talia went to see him about six hours after you got back. She said that he wasn't as bad as Karal during the Jarim issue, whatever that means, but she said that it looked like he was suffering from a combination of lack of sleep, no food, and stress. She sent him to bed, but he only slept for about five hours. He's been waiting outside ever since. We've been taking turns watching over you, but he doubled on my shift when I fell asleep, so I sent him out and to get some food. When he comes in, do not exclaim or jump up, since all you'll do is hurt yourself and startle him. I don't think you have the strength to get up, anyway, but don't hurt yourself trying. You're still very weak, as it is. One thing- Julian hasn't slept any since we came back, and he looks like hell, but don't say anything. He doesn't know what he looks like, and nobody wants him more stressed than he already is."

"I know what I look like, Sa'heera," came a voice from the door. Both Shin'a'in glanced at the doorway to see Julian leaning against the frame, cradling a tray of food in his arms. Rowen bit back an expletive- Julian looked like warmed-over death! He had bags under his eyes, and his skin was paler than Rowen had ever seen it, even more so than after the bandit attack. There were slight hollows in his cheeks, and he looked paper thin. He'd looked thin before, but now Rowen was half afraid that if a gust of wind came, the Bard would just up and blow away.

"Ah-" Sa'heera turned pink. "You heard all of it?"

"Just about," Julian's dry voice came from the entrance. "Do you want some food? The Healers said that all you should have is toast and juice, but they always say that, even if you have a broken leg and nothing else."

Rowen's stomach decided to make itself known, and he nearly doubled over as the first hunger pang hit him. "Please."

The other man smiled, and it seemed to light up the room. Rowen watched the contents of the tray and felt himself salivating at the sight of the food on the platter; a loaf of bread, some soup, a small bit of meat, some greens in a bowl, a large pitcher of juice; then he noticed how much food was on the tray. Everything seemed double sized, and it all barely fit on the tray. How had one skinny, stick-like Bard that had neither eaten nor slept in two days managed to carry that big thing into here?

Julian must have Felt Rowen's bewilderment, for he smiled and said, "Such is the power of one who wants to help a friend. And as your people say, never reject aid unlooked for."

_Do not willfully ignore love unlooked for._ The message from the Star-Eyed echoed in his mind as he realized the odd similarity between the two lines. He gave it a mental shrug and dismissed it for the moment. There were other things on his mind- like the delicious platter of food sitting on the floor next to his pallets.

Between bites, he queried the other two on the current situation.

"So what is Nadar doing now?"

Sa'heera started off. "Well, he wasn't very happy to see Jadrek, but he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. An'desha is working on getting Nadar to admit that you do exist, that you're alive, and that you still love him, even though Nadar declared you Oathbreaker."

Rowen swallowed and winced. "How is the Oathbreaker situation coming along?"

"An'desha said that Nadar is willing to admit that he was wrong about the you-don't-exist complex, but he still doesn't believe that you're you. In his heart, he wants to believe very badly, but his mind won't accept it. Inside- he's just a lonely little boy that's missed his big brother very much," Julian supplied.

Rowen colored. "Do you think he still considers me his big brother? I never told him that I loved him, I called him 'kid' all the time, and acted patronizing. And he loved me all the same. But-" His voice cracked. "I did love him. Very much. It broke my heart when I decided not to come back, and now I can see what a big mistake that was." He refused to look at his companions, fearing the accusing stares that were sure to be in their eyes. A light touch on his shoulder made him look up into Julian's blue eyes.

"Rowen- sometimes we say things that we don't mean, sometimes we say things that we do mean, and then sometimes... we don't say anything at all. Nadar knew you loved him. When he was at the camp, for the short period of time that he was there before we left, all I was able to feel from him were guilt, sorrow, a slight feeling of joy or hope, and wonder. A little fear, but then again, you were covered in blood when you got back to the camp."

That startled Rowen. "How did you know that?" he asked, internally analyzing every nuance of the second half of the third sentence. Joy and hope? Sorrow and guilt were to be expected, wonder was not quite anticipated, and fear was always present when a human met Rowen for the first time.

Julian smiled thinly. "You smelled like it. When I lost my sight, I had to learn to depend on my other senses; smell, hearing, touch and taste. The former fairly more than the latter, but they're all quite enhanced."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Um..."

There was an awkward silence between the two of them until Sa'heera broke it. "I forgot something for you back in my room, Rowen. You need to give it back to Nadar."

Before Rowen could ask what it was she stood and exited the room, leaving the two men alone with their meal.

"So what do you think she went to get?" Julian asked.

Rowen shrugged. "Peace gift, maybe?"

Both men made noises of cynicism.

"Nah."

* * *


	12. Nothing's Left to Stop You Now

Sorry for the short chapter and the lateness, but I felt that the chapter should end there, and to any of the One Week readers out there, words cannot express my apologies… I am having a writers block and am stuck on research for the fic, but hopefully there will be an update within the next few days.

Eva McGregor- I like to think that the answers mean something… I didn't ask for it; I was only seeing if anyone understood that it was Herald Inya reincarnated. '**Like good ecologists, Valdemarans recycle. Companions (all but the Grove-born) are recycled Heralds.' **

**-Mercedes Lackey. **

When Heralds come back as Companions, sometimes their names are similar to their old names. Mercedes Lackey makes a reference to this somewhere. Companions don't like the Heralds to know this fact, but there you have it. In one of the books, Gwena (Elspeth's Companion) says that she's talking to Savil, not Sayvil. Savil=Sayvil, Tantras=Tantris, Jaysen=Jasan, etc. Idra is also now Idry.

Thanks also to: DarkangelWings, Fireblade K'Chona, Wizard 116, oceanmate and Sarah. And Mischakitsune, for Betaing. #hugs you#

Notes: I just noticed this, but in Chapter Ten, it said that there was no way Inyam would be able to catch up to Canan on the Plains. Companions are the fastest creatures in the world, and I actually changed that to something along the lines of that since the Plains grass tends to hide holes and stuff like that, Inyam could hurt herself, and she wasn't really bred for walking on the Plains, so there ya go. Sorry bout that. All changes will be updated when I finish this.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Nothing's left to stop you now. **

"And She said that something bad is going to happen?"

"She said that a darkness was coming to 'envelope Valdemar and her allies, and more. The enemy will become known to you soon enough.'"

There was a long quiet.

"Did She say when? Or where it would come from?" The Lord Patriarch asked, fiddling with the cuff of his robe.

"Soon, that's all. Soon."

"But the Mage-Storms just ended a few years ago! Surely there can't be something _else_!" Lady Wyrist said indignantly.

Rowen regarded her with a sardonic eye. "We cannot stop it, so we might as well be prepared for it."

Jarim stood. "The Changechild is right. As my people say-"

"-the best attack is the one no one sees coming," Rowen finished with him.

The Shin'a'in envoy spared him a raised eyebrow. "So we must be constantly on our guard. We may be jumping at shadows, but just because you feel an enemy is lurking behind every bush, it does not follow that you are wrong."

Rowen almost rolled his eyes. Almost. '_Troubles always come in threes, so where is the third proverb?_'

"And there is no specific direction that the trouble could be coming from?" Selenay mused.

"No, Majesty, none," Kerowyn said. "My spies have seen nothing; all seems peaceful."

Then a new voice, one that Rowen rarely heard at Council meetings spoke up.

"But what of the Eastern Empire?" Sejanes asked.

"What of it?" The Lord Marshall repeated. "Nothing. They have no magic- no more ways to transport their food and supplies to the cities. The last time our spies were able to contact us, the realm was recovering, but slowly. The entire Empire is still in a state of disorder even with the new Emperor. Yes, it is improving, but our sources say that it is coming along slowly. Our offers of alliance and assistance have come to nil, but that does not mean that they are a threat." He scoffed. "Hardly so. Their mages are having difficulties lighting simple fires, let alone master an assault upon us."

"And who is the new Emperor?" Sejanes inquired evenly.

"Er- our sources say Baron Melles, but we don't know much about him, I'm afraid."

"Be afraid," the mage said. "_I_ knew the Baron Melles, and when last I saw him, he was a clever, ambitious and powerfully mage-Gifted man. Now, even with magic and the sources of power the way they are, he will be even more powerful, and I have no doubt that he will attempt to make a move to the West- here. First, Hardorn, Iftel, Karse, and all of the other countries that border it on the west. Then on to Valdemar, and then the rest of the continent."

A shocked silence followed that statement.

"B-but what about the Iftel and Karse God? Won't He do anything?" someone asked. Multiple complaints joined his until the room was full of arguing Councilors.

Selenay tried to call for silence, but it only had a partial effect. Finally, Darkwind stood up and waved over the heads of the bickering men and women, a motion that attracted the attention of everyone in the room.

"I believe that after what happened last time, He's going to take the Star-Eyed's approach- help those who help themselves. We won't be entirely on our own, but we can't expect Them to just solve the problem for us," he said. "If the army gets as far as the capitals- yes, They may decide to give a little divine assistance, but we shouldn't count on it. And since when have we ever begged Them for help _before_ anything happened?"

This new statement made all of the people in the room reconsider their arguments, and the formerly quarrelsome Councilors looked at each other.

"But-" someone tried to say.

"No 'buts,'" Darkwind said. "We will solve this on our own. _Without any help from Them._"

The man grumbled but sat back in his seat.

"Now," Selenay asked. "Are there any other arguments, ladies and gentlemen?"

"One does one's best, and the gods decree the rest."

'_So goes the proverbial third… proverb._'

========================

Once he was back in the Vale, Rowen went to the small chest that he had requested for his own personal use. He opened it and took out a tiny box that contained a twin to the only item that showed Rowen's Clan; a hawk amulet. The small but precious trinket was Nadar's; the one he'd torn off back at the camp. Sa'heera had given it to him on the night that he'd woken up after the Plains incident, but he hadn't found an appropriate time to give it back to Nadar. Now- An'desha had said, oh-so-casually to Rowen that he'd been making some progress with Nadar, and would Rowen like to come and try his luck?

Cautiously he'd agreed, and so he was here, getting what he needed to try and 'persuade Nadar back to his side,' so to speak. He put the box into his belt pouch and closed it, and left the empty Vale. Julian was elsewhere, having dinner with the Karsite Envoy and his Firecat in their rooms, leaving Rowen free for the evening.

He trotted up the Field to the Palace and into the Guest wing, to the rooms where all the Shin'a'in -and now Nadar- were being housed. Now that the servants were all at least comfortable enough with him that they didn't shriek in fear whenever one caught a glimpse of him, he was able to find Nadar's room quite easily. He stood outside the door, shifting nervously and forming greetings in his head that he was never quite satisfied with. Finally, he just decided to wing it, and knocked on the door.

"One moment!" Nadar's maturing voice sounded in Shin'a'in from inside. After a few moments, he flung open the door, obviously expecting to see An'desha, Jadrek, or even Jarim. He obviously was not expecting to see his renounced older brother.

"May I come in?" Rowen asked, attempting to make himself look as unintimidating as possible. Nadar nodded, eyes the size of dinner plates, and gestured behind him into the darkened room.

The Changechild ducked under the threshold and moved over the farthest wall from the door so that Nadar felt that he had an easy exit. The last thing Rowen wanted was for the boy to feel boxed in. Nadar shut the door quietly behind him, and turned, pale, to face Rowen.

"Listen," Rowen began in a low voice. "I didn't come to argue. I didn't come to yell, or to threaten you, or anything like that. I just came to talk, and to give you something." He fingered his belt pouch. "Will you listen?"

Nadar nodded.

"I understand that you are mad at Rowen. He left you and never sent word of what happened. He went off to live alone, in the wilds, and never told anyone. In the Clan, he was your older brother, and you loved him. You placed yourself apart from your family, and Sa'heera, and Jadrek, when he left, and the pain only got worse as the years went on. When you found out that he might be alive, you couldn't take it. You left with your horse, and then when those deer attacked, Canan died and you were trapped. You couldn't get back to the Clan because of something you couldn't control. Your horse was gone, and you couldn't get away. Rowen could not get back to the Clan because of circumstances beyond his control. So you see, in a way, your situations _were_ rather similar." He smiled. "But Rowen still cares for you. His heart is still not healed because you will not accept him as he is now. He is not an Oathbreaker, and even though it pained him to hear you call him that, he is willing to forgive you _because he loves you still_. Will you not believe in him again, and have yourself and him welcomed back into Tale'sedrin?"

Nadar stared at him for a long, long time. Quietly, Rowen reached into his pouch and removed the box. He opened it and withdrew the necklace, watching Nadar's eyes glitter with something akin to longing that changed to sorrow as he noticed that his own necklace's twin hung around Rowen's neck. He did not bow his head to accept the necklace, nor did he dodge as the Changechild lowered the necklace around his neck and left it resting on his breast.

"Will you accept me again, _jel'pral_?" Rowen asked, very gently, using the Shin'a'in term for 'little brother,' a term that his heart had been aching to use for a very long time.

Nadar looked away for a long moment, then back, and up at Rowen. Tears were shimmering in his dark eyes. "Yes," he whispered through a choked up throat. "Oh yes, brother. I accept you, and I am so sorry." He wept then, and Rowen knelt down and opened his arms. When Nadar rushed into them and they embraced each other, something that had been broken in both of them for more than five long years healed at last.

* * *

Hiro: That sounds so sappy…. Review and make the sappy author review. 


	13. Is There Anyone There For You?

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Hiro: #pokes head out of shelter, looks around# Okay, hurricane's gone; time to get back to work. 

No school for... seven days now. I guess I can't really hope for more than that, now that Frances is gone. #sigh# Ah, well. Huddling in the closet and hoping my computer wouldn't get sucked out the window was never my idea of a picnic. And I still have Ivan the Terrible to look forward to on Monday! Well, to make up for being unable to update, here is a super long chapter where the action actually starts to happen. The next chapter (which does have some actions scenes) is about halfway done, and it'll be about as long as this chapter, if not longer…

#jaw drops# 72 reviews… 72… #shakes head# I still can't figure out why you guys like this thing so damn much… but I still love y'all so much for it.

Replies to Reviewers.

Fireblade K'Chona- Yeah…. About that… typo… . was supposed to be 'review and make the sappy author happy.' Sorry bout that.

Forgotpassword- Yes, Rowen's a centaur. The horse body ends at the neck base and the human body ends just below the navel.

DarkangelWings1324- I think she just changed the spelling and pronunciation and small things like that, since they're supposed to have derivated from Kaled'a'in, but I haven't really done any research on it. Tayledras probably came from Romanian, which (I think) is different from Romany. Romany is the language of the Rom. (Gypsies)

Also thanks to: Wizard116, oceanmate, Sarah, and Mischakitsune, again, for betaing. Luv ya, Mischa!

* * *

Dictionary of Shin'a'in terms: 

_Dat_- Father

_Dya_- Mother

_Dar li tu, edra. Dar li tu._- And I you, sister. And I you.

_Latcho dives_- Hello.

_Te'sorthene_- friend bonded by heart, spirit.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Is There Anyone For You?**

In the end, despite many protests, Nadar had decided to stay in Haven with Rowen.

'_That would explain why we're all here,_' the aforementioned man thought.

Nadar wanted to say goodbye to his family and apologize, Jadrek had needed to converse with the shaman substituting for him, and Sa'heera had wanted to speak with Clopin.

So here they all were, in the Vale, all settling into a light trance with Julian watching over them. The full moon sent beams of light through the triangular windows to bathe them all in fluorescent luminescence as they each stretched out in whatever pose felt most comfortable. Rowen had chosen to fold his legs underneath him, and was eager to feel his old body again as he sent his spirit _out_, then _up_.

He was in for a rather nasty shock.

Instead of being greeted by cries of welcome from Nadar's parents and youngest sister, he was met by stares of shock and amazement.

When no one said anything- apparently Jadrek and Sa'heera were off with their own issues, and Nadar still wasn't there, Rowen got edgy. "What?"

No sounds came from their mouths.

"What is it?"

"Y-you… Rowen?"

"Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"You've changed, Rowen."

No he hadn't- well, yes, he had, but his here-form was his human form, right?

Wrong.

He looked down and cursed. There they were as always, mocking him- those damned horse legs and hooves. But his body had been human before! Why alter it to the Changed form? Rowen wanted to weep with frustration, but the other three- Trennon and Lashanna, Nadar's parents, and Kesry'val, Nadar's sister- were all staring at him like they'd just seen Kal'enel Herself, and She had told them that Rowen was Her son, and frankly, their expressions disturbed him. They wore rapt expressions of fascination that were starting to make him a little uneasy, and he shifted his weight a little.

He was considering discovering how far the Moonpaths actually went when Nadar appeared out of the mist next to him with a muffled "_sorry,_" and the spell was broken.

His parents and sister rushed forward to embrace him with cries of joy and relief as Rowen stood off to the side, uncomfortable and feeling as though he were intruding on something private.

Finally, Nadar broke away from his family and the small group opened up to face Rowen.

"_Dat_, _Dya_, you remember Rowen?"

"Of course," his mother said. "How could we forget?" his father added.

"This… this is Rowen. He's finally back, and we've discussed our problems. We've both been accepted back into the Clan and we've taken our Oaths. He- he may look different, but underneath anything you see, he's still the same Rowen! And he's still my _te'sorthene_, and that alone should speak for him!"

Rowen was a bit amused by Nadar's defense of him, even though his parents really hadn't said anything against him… yet.

"We… can see that, son," Nadar's father said.

"It's just that Rowen… now he embodies all that is Shin'a'in!"

'_What?_'

"Exactly. Our spirit siblings are the horses, and Rowen… he's melded with our siblings in a way we never thought possible! He's got the intelligence of a human, the speed and grace of a fighter _and_ a horse, the muscles of both, and he's just… just…" Nadar's father seemed lost for words.

"Beautiful," Kesry'val said softly, gazing at Rowen's sleek physique.

"Magnificent," Lashanna continued. "Absolutely magnificent."

All the attention Rowen was receiving was making him uncomfortable, and Nadar must have felt it, because he looked up at Rowen with a calm expression on his face and a look in his eyes that plainly said '_don't worry.'_

He relaxed a trifle, and Nadar turned back to his parents and sister with a reproving gaze.

His father had the grace to look chagrined, and his mother looked slightly embarrassed, but Kesry'val continued to stare at Rowen, and only when he mock-glared at her did she blush and look away.

"Sorry, Rowen," his mother apologized. "We've just- we've never seen anything like you before, and it just… overwhelmed us."

Rowen felt a pang of sorrow at her use of the word 'anything,' but let him continue.

"Please accept our apologies, and you have our deepest thanks for rescuing our son. We are in your debt… is there anything we can do to repay you?"

"Not… not at the moment," Rowen said quickly. If there was one thing he hated, it was having people indebted to him in any way.

"Well, then. Nadar?"

Nadar rushed forward and embraced his parents, then his sister.

"I'll miss you," Rowen could hear her whisper softly.

"_Dar li tu, edra. Dar li tu._" Nadar replied equally as softly.

She stepped back to stand next to her mother. The three of them gave Nadar one last goodbye- Trennon nodded at Rowen, Lashanna mouthed, _protect my little boy_, Kesry'val smiled at him and blushed again, and the three of them vanished from the Moonpaths in a swirl of mist.

Nadar stood there for a few moments, staring at the spot where his parents had been and Rowen noticed that his eyes seemed a little brighter than usual, so he turned away to give the boy the illusion of privacy. A few moments later, Sa'heera appeared out of the mist, followed by Jadrek a few seconds after. The shaman looked at Nadar, chuckled once, and vanished.

'_That's Jadrek for you,_' Rowen thought.

"Oh! Have they gone already?" the woman asked. "I wanted to ask Lashanna something…"

"Sorry, Sa'heera. Oh- _latcho divès_, Clopin!" Nadar called to the man that suddenly appeared behind Sa'heera.

"_Latcho divès_, Nadar. Rowen shena Tale'sedrin! It's been a while."

"It has?" Rowen asked in confusion. He'd never seen this man before!

"Yes- it's been almost six years. We met at Kata'shin'a'in- I sold you your sword after your old one broke, remember?"

Reflexively Rowen looked down at the sword on his belt. Indeed, he had bought it at Kata'shin'a'in- that much he remembered. He didn't remember the seller too well, but that might be because a week or so later he had been caught in the Circle. But now that he thought about it…

"I kind of remember you," he said slowly. "You also had some odd swords from far down South… slightly curved ones made for being held by only one hand, but you had some other ones made for two hands, right?"

Clopin looked pleased. "You _do_ remember! So now it turns out that you are the man I've been hearing so much about. I can't say that I'm not impressed, but you seem just a little bit different from Sa'heera's descriptions."

He grinned, and it took a few seconds for Rowen to realize that he'd made a joke. The absurdity of it made Rowen crack a grin himself, and Sa'heera smiled, obviously happy with the camaderie of the two men.

Nadar looked tired and vanished suddenly with only a tired wave and a soft "goodbye," to mark his leaving.

Sa'heera looked worried for a moment, then left also, with a quick but passionate kiss from Clopin and a smile for Rowen, leaving the two men alone to speak of manly things.

"So… how did you meet Sa'heera?" Rowen asked cautiously. It seemed like a safe enough subject.

"Well, I'm a smith at Kata'shin'a'in all year 'round except for when there are big Clan gatherings. I'd heard rumors about your disappearance, and Sa'heera only confirmed it. She was coming back in from the last search for you-"

"Oh."

"And they stopped in Kata'shin'a'in to rest, and I was on a break, and we happened to meet up at a café. (A/N: Do they _have_ cafés in Velgarth/Tantara?) I was sitting alone at my table when a beautiful woman came in, with the saddest expression on her face. She looked like she'd just lost her best friend… which _was_ true," he said, looking sideways at Rowen.

"I went over to talk… and then I made the mistake of looking into her eyes… they were the brightest shade of emerald green," Clopin said in a breathless voice. "The color of the most expensive emeralds under the clearest summer sky can never compare to their exquisiteness… nor the most flawless diamond to her beauty." His eyes glazed over slightly, and Rowen almost rolled his eyes. He was well aware of Sa'heera's beauty, though it didn't really affect him in the least, but that could be because they were _te'sorthene_.

"…and I invited her out to dinner, and things… well, things progressed from there," Clopin finished with a slight blush.

"And you love her?" Rowen asked softly.

"Love her?" Clopin asked, astonished. "She is as my very essence… I am not complete without her, and my love for her could crack mountains and stop rivers! She is half of my soul and all of my heart!"

'_He should be a Bard,_' Rowen thought.

"You aren't… are you jealous, Rowen?" Clopin asked nervously.

"Me? Havens- _no!_ It would be like loving my sister or something of the sort. No, she and I are merely heart-siblings, nothing more."

Clopin looked relieved. "So there is no one that you would care to share your life with?" he asked seriously.

Unbidden, an image of Julian arose to the top of his mind, tugging at his heart. Rowen quickly pushed it away and focused on Clopin.

"No," he said evenly. "There is no one."

"Ah."

They stood there for a while, just evaluating what they'd learned.

"Rowen."

"Yes?"

"Will you… will you take care of Sa'heera in Haven, and watch over her until she leaves?"

Rowen nodded. "Of course. And your unborn child."

Clopin's face took on a tender look. "Yes, and my child."

Rowen nodded again, and held out his hand for Clopin to take. The other man grabbed it, and they shook firmly.

Without another word, Rowen stepped back, nodded once to the weaponsmith, and forced his spirit _down_, then _in_.

* * *

"What's wrong now?" Karal asked Rowen as he eased himself into his chair.

"No idea. I got a message calling an emergency Council- a page came to the Vale, and I saw them swarming all over the Palace looking for Councilors," Rowen answered.

Karal frowned. "This must be something serious, then."

"Could it be what the Star-Eyed was taking about?"

The Karsite Envoy shugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Altra doesn't know either, so I'm guessing that whatever it is, it must have just come in."

He ended then, because Selenay stepped through the door, looking tired, followed by Herald-Consort Daren, Heralds Kerowyn, Alberich, and Talia, and a person so covered in road dust and mud that Rowen couldn't even guess its gender, flanked by two guards.

Selenay and the Heralds sat, and everyone in the room immediately became quiet- an unusual thing; the Councilors must have known that something of more importance than their own squabbles was occurring- or had already been set in motion.

Selenay gestured at the figure, who immediately began speaking in Hardornen-accented Valdemaran.

"I come bearing a message from King Tremane of Hardorn. He wants to inform the Council of Valdemar, and the Alliance that the Empire-" the were muffled groans around the room, the loudest coming from the Lord Marshall. "-is on the move again. King Tremane says that precisely two weeks ago, one of the Eastern border towns of Hardorn- Castogol- was attacked by men apparently from Empiric origin. The few survivors that managed to flee the town and get to the Crown City were completely terrified, bringing stories about a large group of what seemed to be bandits attacking the town and slaughtering every man old enough to wield a sword, and enslaving every woman and child. The town is held completely, and there are rumors that they're scouting for more towns. The King says that they aren't bandits, though."

Looks of surprise filtered among the men and women in the room.

"King Tremane says that the Empire never allowed any bandits within its borders. From the reports, the men are too well-trained to be bandits, and they overtook the town in a systematic fashion identical to the one Tremane was originally using in his capacity as Commander of the Imperial forces in Hardorn."

The Lord Marshall looked worried.

"He also said he has sent spies over the Border into the Empire. They all made it back alive, but…"

"But what?" Selenay prompted.

"They said that aside from its magic, the Empire has apparently regained full civil control and is not quite back to its former state, but they are rising rapidly. King Tremane believes that this may be the beginning of a new war; Melles is testing his borders, and he could make an attack any day.

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Hiro: Thanks for reading... 


	14. Death For Virtue Is The Wage

New chapter, comin' right at ya!

The action's starting to pick up now, so I'm getting into a more comfortable writing routine. I'm trying to write for at least a half hour at least every other day, which seems to be working.

Thanks to: Fireblade K'Chona, oceanmate, DarkangelWings1324, Fimbrethil and Amber Stag.

And the lovely Mischakitsune for beta-ing.

Notes: This is my first actual attempt at writing a large-scale battle scene between humans, and probably the first attempt of anyone to involve the _ratha_ in anything. _Kyree_ and_ ratha_ will now be in italics, because it's easier to write in ML's style. And for anyone who's been wondering about what's been going on in Julian's head for the last two chapters, next chapter will show what he's been up to while Rowen's been busy here. Please tell me how I'm doing on the battle scenes.

Hints: There is a reincarnated Herald/Companion pair in this Chapter. First person to find it gets a cookie.

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Living in the modern age,  
death for virtue is the wage.  
So it seems in darker hours.  
Evil wins, kindness cowers.

Ruled by violence and vice  
we all stand upon thin ice.  
Are we brave or are we mice,  
here upon such thin, thin ice?

Dare we linger, dare we skate?  
Dare we laugh or celebrate,  
knowing we may strain the ice?  
Preserve the ice at any price?

_-The Book of Counted Sorrows._

**Chapter 14: Death For Virtue Is The Wage**

:_We're coming up on the town now. Form up on your leaders._:

All of the creatures sent to retaliate against the 'bandits' split into their respective groups; the wing of gryphons, the _kyree_ pack, the detachment of the Guard and members of Tremane's army, the surge of _ratha_, and Rowen and the Herald-Mage and the rest of the Heralds assigned to the mission. The _kyree_ and _ratha_ would go in first- to take out the perimeter guards and kill all of the men that they could find alone. The gryphons would follow to disable any long-range weapons and any mages they could find, setting the final stage for the others to retake the town.

:_Tarrl, Sammel, get ready to move in… now,_: Herald-Mage Kennidra commanded. She was the leader of this whole operation. She'd been trained in combat magic by Elspeth and Darkwind themselves, and taught large-scale battle tactics by Kerowyn. The woman hadn't been able to come, but she could still fight, and she'd run Rowen around Companion's Field many times, along with the Collegium's Weaponsmaster, Jeri. They'd come at him one at a time, then both at once, then attacking in sync, not giving him time to rest until they were both satisfied that he could fight and get around anyone or anything that might get below his hooves and get him from there. Then they'd thrown some of their best students at him so that he could learn how to fight against a group, then all of them using different weapons. He'd been taught how to buck so that nothing could stay on his back except for Kerowyn, who could (generally) stay on the back of anything that moved, be it man, beast, or Changecreature, trained to _keep_ something on his back, to move for hours without stopping, to track, to use every part of his body as best as he could. In short, if he wanted to kill something and it tried to run, he would find it, get rid of anything that tried to stop him, and depending on his orders, kill it slowly to get the most information out of it, or kill it swiftly so it couldn't call for help. He was now a killing machine, comparable to a warrior's version of an Adept mage.

If he'd been trained like this back on the Plains when fighting the Changed deer, they would have been gone in a matter of minutes, with hardly a mark on him. According to Kerowyn, he was a prodigy of the sword, and in only a few months of training, he'd been able to reach this. She said that that he was now probably better trained than some of the Swordsworn, and when she'd heard about that bout with the Swordsworn before his Change, she'd laughed and said that she'd like to see the rematch now.

Now he was in Hardorn, on the Eastern Border, preparing to retake Castogol. When they were done here, they were going to help Tremane evacuate the entire Eastern Border and all of the people within twenty leagues of it.

When he'd found out about the retaking of the town, he'd thought it would be a good idea to have a Councilor go to the battle, perhaps be in it, so that at least one of the Councilors would know firsthand what they were dealing with. He'd suggested it, and some of the Councilors actually seemed rather enthusiastic about the idea, especially the gryphons and Kerowyn. Selenay and the Heralds had thought that it was an interesting proposal. Then they'd found out who he proposed to go. Himself. Julian had opposed, and several of the Councilors had complained about the Changechild having too many wild ideas, but most of the others were ominously silent.

"Would you be willing to go?" Selenay had asked.

"Yes," he'd replied. "Kerowyn, Alberich, Jeri, and some of the Heraldic students and I have been working on ways to use this body to the utmost potential, and we all agree that it has been honed to be, if I may say, something akin to the makaar of k'Leshya legend- a killing machine."

Some of the Councilors had looked slightly green at that- no doubt they'd heard of the escapade with the Change-deer.

"Why… have you done this?" Selenay had asked.

He'd sighed. "There really is nothing else that this body is suited for." When some of the Councilors looked alarmed, he'd quickly explained. "The original horse body is almost unrecognizable. Gehdri was a saddlehorse, bred for travel and walking. When we melded, his muscles were enlarged, my muscles were made stronger, and his body grew to warhorse proportions. The hooves are as hard as rock now, the muscles like steel. I can fight better than some of the Swordsworn. This is what the body can do. My mind can work with the Council, but my body needs to work out there. We haven't heard of any new Changechildren, and there isn't much out there that can hurt me, much less kill me. I'd like permission to go on this mission to help liberate the town. I now know Hardornen. I persuaded Brytha to give it to me when I learned about this. He got it from Elspeth, and she approves of my going. I may not be as useful as a Herald and a Companion pair, but I'm the closest thing you've got to it."

Then he'd used his trump card.

"If I go to the town, and some of the bandits escape to carry tales back to the Emperor, that's all for the better, because if we take a page out of the Iftel gryphon's book, and use some of the nonhumans in the attack, then the Empire might reconsider attempting to take over Hardorn if he thinks that we have an army of these creatures. Please, Selenay. Let me go. I'm the only nonhuman besides the gryphons that they can hear, and I'm the only one that they _will_ hear. I can tell them about our army of nonhumans and humans, all trained in fighting. We've figured out how to use some magics, and that's even better. All of the mages that they were using were apparently of high level. Most of our mages are low, and they can use what they have. The Empire doesn't know how to get its high magic back. If we bluff, we might just be able to avert a war."

The Queen and the other Councilors had looked at him, then each other.

The agreement had been almost unanimous. He'd been allowed to go, but only if he wasn't in the front lines of fighting, if some of the members of the group going to the town were Heralds, and only if he had a 'chaperone' in the Crown City. Naturally, he'd picked Julian, who hadn't been very enthusiastic about the idea from the start, but he'd agreed to go, for Rowen's sake. Even now, he was probably waiting back in the capital with bated breath, eager to be back in Valdemar. Rowen was just lucky to have a friend like him, to help him muddle through this whole ordeal, and to be there when he needed to vent some of his frustrations. His physical anger was another story, one that he needed another outlet for, one of the smaller motivations for his argument to go.

So here he was, hiding in the cover of night with the Heralds and the Guardsmen of both countries, waiting for the signal from Tarrl and Sammel so they could start the open offense.

Sammel was the leader of the small surge of _ratha_ in Hardorn, and Tarrl the packleader of the _kyree_.

Rowen watched the bright lights of the town burn merrily in the distance, acting quite contrarily to the horrors within. In a few moments, there would be fires blazing over the tiny pinpricks, and the town would not be as peaceful as it seemed.

They all waited anxiously for the scouts to finish what needed to be done, then the signal for the gryphons came.

:_Gryphons, begin aerial attack now._: Came Kenni's command.

Rowen could vaguely see them moving against the sky, black and grey bodies blocking out the stars, and he could hear the wind of their passing as they flew quietly towards the town, bags of rocks in hand, and fighting claws equipped. The Kaled'a'in had brought them from White Gryphon, and the Iftel gryphons seemed to enjoy them immensely.

A few minutes passed, and Rowen could hear screams coming from the distant town, and he longed to be able to go off and _help_ those people. The innocent ones, anyway. He could care less about the soldiers.

Agonizing minutes passed, and finally the sign came for the rest of the attack force to move in.

He was off like a bullet, streaming ahead of the rest of the team, even as the gryphons were circling back around for another attack, some dangling things better left unnamed from their talons.

He entered the city perimeter at a flat out gallop, swords out and senses attuned to everything around him. The first thing he saw was a child standing in the middle of the street, bawling for his mother. The second thing he saw was the horse galloping towards the boy in a blind panic, entrails poking through a long gash in it's stomach.

Rowen changed course and headed for the child, sheathing his sword to sweep the boy off of the street and out of harms way. He dodged the horse and placed the boy in an open doorway a split second later before the boy could realize what had saved him.

Rowen pulled his sword again and veered left down an alleyway, splashing through puddles of foul liquid that sent stenches to wrinkle his nose to reach the other side, only to burst into the middle of a group of very surprised men dressed in well-fitting armor that were quickly drawing one-two-three-four-five swords. All of the men took one look at him and dropped the swords, streaming the other way as fast as they could, even as the swords clattered to the ground.

He didn't give chase, and they turned out of sight around a corner as he set off in the other direction, adrenaline pumped and looking for blood. He found it in the form of a man who was beating a woman senseless even as the town was being overrun. Ruthlessly, Rowen drew his sword, and even as the man looked up, and his expression turned to one of terror, the sword came sweeping down in a black arc, cutting halfway through his chest, severing his spine and rendering him helpless. He fell to the ground, and Rowen leaned down and grabbed the woman's arm, hauling her to her feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked in Hardornen.

She nodded breathlessly, apparently not caring about the physical appearance of her savior, or she was too dazed to notice.

Suddenly her eyes widened, and she gabbled something in Hardornen.

His ears picked up something moving behind him, and he turned to face it, instinctively shifting his sword to block. It turned out to be the right thing to do, because a mace came slamming down onto his sword, aimed from one of the men who he'd startled before.

He couldn't turn entirely, so he just turned back around, and looking over his shoulder, placed a high kick that turned the man's head into a bloody pulp. He dropped like a stone, and Rowen turned back to the woman.

"Go to the outskirts of the town. Bring other civilians with you. If you see anyone dressed in white, or if you see a white horse, go to them and ask them to take you somewhere safe. If you see a big cat, or a wolf, or a…" he hesitated, not sure about how to describe the gryphons. "A very big bird, ask them, too. Don't be afraid of them. They are friendly, like me. We are here to help you. Do you understand?"

She nodded again, eyes very wide. He gave her a small nudge in the right direction.

"Go, and please hurry." She took off, skirts flying as she ran, limping slightly from her wounds, but still going strong, towards the quietest part of the town.

He watched her until he was satisfied that she would be fine, and turned again, heading into the deepest part of the town, towards the loudest sounds of fighting.

He started off again, now moving down an empty street, devoid of any life except for one lone small corpse- a child's corpse. Rowen felt the anger rise in him and let it. He passed the small body and could feel its empty eyes stare at his bloody hooves as he galloped past. He saw more signs of carnage- an arm here, a pool of spoiled blood there, and the bloodlust rose higher, leaving him with only a small corner to think and analyze.

Up ahead he could see a large group of 'bandits' fighting a mixed group of _kyree_, _ratha_, a few Valdemaran and Hardornen soldiers. A lone gryphon made passes at the Empire's men from overhead, dropping four men with every sweep. Rowen could make out dim clashes from running men down another alleyway- heavy footsteps slamming into the ground, dull armor and clattering, ragged chainmail. That couldn't be any of the legitimate group- it must be another group of bandits, coming to help quell the invaders. He moved towards them, darting around the fighting group to stand between them and the newcomers. The new bandits came up from an alleyway that he hadn't seen, and spotted him. Their ranks parted to let through a man dressed in robes much like Sejanes', and Rowen's eyes widened.

'_Mage!_' his senses screamed.

The man grinned, and raised his hands above his head to cup them together by the wrists. Above them, a ball of what looked like lightning began to form, and Rowen could feel electricity in the air.

'_No- if that hits the group over there- they'll die. There's no way anyone could survive that hitting them._'

Rowen made the split-second decision to kill the mage now and ask questions later, and raised his swords. The men with the mage flowed around the man, forming a human barrier between the Changechild and the magician.

'_Can I get through that in time?_' Rowen thought despairingly. '_I have to try._'

He took off for what looked like the weakest part of the wall, swords held high and nerves screaming.

The men braced themselves, and Rowen sighted for the mage. He hit the men hard, and some of them fell backwards, but the rest swarmed him. He was barely able to keep them off, and one jumped on his back, trying to cut through the armor that covered Rowen's body to get at his flesh. Rowen bucked- and the man fell off. Before he hit the ground, Rowen lashed out with his hind feet, sending the man flying back to knock some of his comrades down. The rest of the men closed in, and Rowen despaired of ever reaching the mage in time.

Then he wasn't alone- two _ratha_ and a _kyree_ were with him, tearing them men away from him, letting Rowen draw back out of the melee and into an open space. He tried to think of something that could take down the mage, felt along his belt- then his fingers encountered something long and hard.

'_Of course!_' his mind exulted.

Rowen pulled his bow off of his belt- drew an arrow from the quiver, and nocked it. Within seconds the mage had realized the new danger, and was turning towards him. Rowen let off his first shot- it went straight for the mage's heart, and the man was forced to use of the ball of lighting, incinerating the arrow but sending the ball directly at Rowen. Suddenly a javelin of blue light intercepted it, and they blew up a scant yard from Rowen's face. He risked a glance to the source of the javelin, and to his relief, it was Kennidra, bearing down on the two of them with a grim expression on her face, mage focus glowing a bright purple on her chest. The Empire's mage turned towards her with a snarl, making a flinging gesture towards Rowen, and suddenly the Changechild found that he couldn't move.

His arms were locked in position, one holding his bow and the other reaching back for another arrow. He watched helplessly as the two mages engaged in battle, now aiming daggers of fire and light towards each other, now sending colored balls of light at each other that clashed on invisible shields and sent skittering lines of lighting trailing over the shields into the ground.

The gryphon from before came winging towards the mages, only to collide with an invisible barrier around the twain and come crashing to the ground perilously close to Rowen, eyes dazed.

His eyes suddenly flicked upwards to Rowen and his eyes unfocused slightly.

"Yyyou arrre frrrozen?" The gryphon asked, eyes still unfocused.

Rowen couldn't move his lips, so he just made an affirmative sound through his pursed lips.

"Ah." The gryphon shifted one talon over to touch Rowen's leg, and twitched the other talon, and Rowen could feel the paralysis coming off of him.

'_What is he- oh, of course. Most gryphons are at least a hedge-wizard level mage._' __

"Thank you," Rowen said when he could move his lips again.

"You arrre welcome. Now pleassse, killl the mage," the gryphon said.

Rowen nodded, and finished the motion he'd begun before, and drew the second arrow back on the string. The mage didn't even notice as Rowen aimed for another heart shot.

"Wait," the gryphon said.

"What?" Rowen asked, still trying to focus on the mage.

"Let me sssee the arrrrow. It willl not get thrrrough the barrrrierrr if it is not bessspelled."

Reluctantly, Rowen held the arrow down to the injured gryphon, who reached up and grasped it in his talons and stared at it. The arrow suddenly glowed a bright blue, and it was quickly handed back to Rowen.

"Nowww, beforrre the magic wearrrsss off."

Rowen didn't even bother nodding, and let the arrow fly as soon as he sighted on the mage's heart. It flew above the heads of the still-fighting men and nonhumans, directly towards the mage, and Rowen was still worried that the wall would stop it. It didn't, and the arrow pierced through the barrier, now visible like a domed wall of warped glass, and pierced the mage's heart. He looked down, obviously shocked, and gasping for breath, which gave Kennidra time to throw a last ball of purple lighting at him, and he was engulfed, dropping to the ground only as a pile of ashes. The mage barrier vanished, and Kennidra didn't even pause as she threw more daggers of light at the bandits, which sliced right through the men. They fell like trees, and Kenni suddenly looked very weary.

Rowen leaned down to the gryphon. "Are you alright?"

"I will be fine," the being said. The sounds of fighting behind them had ceased a while ago, and the street was silent.

"We're almost finished," The Herald Mage said. "There are still some pockets of resistance, and some of the civilians have been taken hostage. Shensa and Lihandra are working on Fetching them from harm, so we need to finish up with the rest of the town. Try to disable, not kill from now on. We want hostages and information, and we can get more of that from a live… man than a dead one." She seemed unwilling to call these bandits men, most likely because of what they'd done to these people.

He followed her to one of the pockets of resistance. While she tried to take the diplomatic route, he just barged in, slashing right and left, knocking men out, taking limbs off at the joint, shattering elbows and knees, severing the occasional spine. He could see that she was horrified at the carnage and havoc he was wreaking, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The image of that child lying dead in the street was running through his mind over and over, and he couldn't bring himself to show these men any mercy. He finished the last men off by severing both hands that held the sword, and just stopped, standing still where he was, panting heavily, not looking at the path of destruction behind him. He was so covered in blood that his coat shone, as did his armor. His hair was matted with it, and his armor was half in shreds. Small nicks and cuts all over his body were beginning to burn, but only a few were serious.

The leg where he'd been wounded by the arrow so long ago was beginning to ache from overuse, and all of his muscles were sore. He was still pumped with adrenaline, but even that wasn't enough to help him when a man ran out of an alleyway, screaming, and let off an arrow at Rowen.

He was helpless to stop it, bringing up his sword a fraction of a second too late. It was a lucky shot, burying itself in the seam where human and horse met, sending a spasm of pain through both bodies. Kennidra sent a fireball at him a few seconds later, incinerating the man where he stood, and she galloped for Rowen. A second arrow hit him in the right side of his chest, and he didn't feel anything, only a terrible pressure.

Kennidra leapt off her Companion, running towards Rowen, and free of his rider, Saradan arrowed at the man, pounding him into red dust even as Kenni reached him.

Dazed, Rowen reached up and touched the arrowshaft gingerly. Only _then_ did it start to hurt, a horrible, bone-deep pain that robbed him of breath and cleared all thoughts from his head.

He went to his fore knees, then his back knees collapsed and he fell onto his side.

Kenni knelt beside him, reaching into her beltpouch for a bandage.

"Rowen, can you hear me?"

He tried to answer, but his lips wouldn't obey him.

"Please try to hold still. I'm going to pull this out, okay?"

He stared at her as she placed one hand on his chest armor, and gripped the shaft firmly with the other.

"One… two… _three_!"

The arrow slid smoothly out of his chest, not leaving the metal leafspear head in. He could feel her pressing the bandage over it, and reach for the second arrow. _That_ one broke off before she could get it out, and he could dimly hear her cursing. Blackness was pressing in at the edges of his vision, and he felt dizzy.

"Rowen? Rowen, stay with me. Rowen!"

"Tired," he managed to murmur. His lips seemed to be working again, and he stretched them into a grimace.

"No, Rowen, don't go to sleep. Rowen, stay awake! If you go to sleep, you will die. Do you hear me? Rowen, do not sleep!"

"Can… try…" he gasped.

"Good."

A _kyree_ appeared in Rowen's field of vision and nuzzled briefly at his face.

:_Warrior?_: Rowen heard in his mind. :_Warrior, I am Cyrrran. I have a small Gift of Healing, and will try to help you. If not, I will stay with you until a Healer can be found. Is that permissible?_:

"Yes," he gasped.

:_You are very badly injured. You may not survive,_: Cyrrran told him bluntly. :_Have you anything you wish to tell your kinfolk?_:

Rowen found the breath to say at least few brief words.

"Tell… tell Nadar… that I'm sorry… that I wasn't able to spend more… time with him… Sa'heera… tell her to take care… of Nadar and the baby… and Julian… tell him… tell him that I'm sorry… that I couldn't come… back..." he coughed weakly.

"I'm sorry… for all of the trouble… I caused… and tell him… thank you… for being there…through everything…"

He couldn't hold on to speech any longer, and was reduced to thinking the answer if Cyrrran asked him anything.

It was easier, but he grew weary faster, and he felt himself losing his grip on consciousness.

He only had one last thought before he slipped completely into the dark pool of death that surrounded him.

'_Julian… I'm so sorry…_'

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And so goes my attempt at angst….

Ah, the Lackey patented formula for success… make them happy and popular, and then drop a mountain on them… or drop them into a bottomless pit of angst and tragedy…


	15. And Then There's Rowen

Due to inner prompting, we have an early, interesting chapter written while I was supposed to be taking notes in American Government. (No joke,)

Fireblade K'Chona- That's odd. I could've sworn that it said that Alberich was making Jeri the Weaponsmaster in… I think either Take a Thief or one of the Arrows books… / Nope, sorry.

Amber Stag- Punkin, as you stated before, I _am_ the omnipotent Authoress. I can make mountains crack, and rivers flood. I can make Rowen dance the Macarena in front of everyone he knows, but I won't, unless it makes sense. And somehow… this makes sense… somehow, someway.

Once again… THANK YOU MISCHAKITSUNE!

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Hint: The reincarnated Herald/Companion pair was Shensa and Lihandra, reincarnated from Lissandra and Shonsea from LHM. I didn't really mention that Lihandra was a Companion, but I didn't want to make it too obvious. And Shensa just has the name because it's easier to spot the reincarnations when both partners have similar names to the old. And before anyone asks, Rowen and Julian are not reincarnated from anyone.

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Hope is the destination that we seek.  
Love is the path that leads to hope.  
Courage is the motor that drives us.  
We travel out of darkness into faith. 

-_The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 15: "And Then There's Rowen…"**

"I've been feeling a pain in my chest since I woke up this morning," Julian complained to the Healer. "It's not really an injury pain, more like an echo pain; like a shadow. I had a nightmare last night, and was thrashing about, but I doubt the two are connected. I'm not really concerned, but it _is_ distracting, and I wanted to have someone look at it.

"Ah. Where, exactly is the pain?" The Healer- Masaan asked him.

"Two places, but one isn't my chest. The chest pain is here," Julian gestured to a spot on the right side of his chest. "And the other- here." He pressed a hand to the area in his right side, between his ribs and his hips.

"Hmm. Have you been exercising a lot lately?"

At Julian's negative response, he continued. "Eating strangely? Been near any new animals? Do you have any allergies?"

"No, no and no."

He could hear the frown in Masaan's voice. "I'm going to scan you for a moment. I don't think it's anything dangerous, but it could be something that the Empire cooked up."

Julian nodded, and sat quietly on the chair that Masaan pointed him in the direction of. When he let down his shields- something he did only rarely- the pain increased tenfold and he gasped, and clamped his arms around the formerly mostly-quiescent areas.

"What-" Masaan's eyes widened. "Bard!" he barked. "Shields up! Now!" Julian obediently slammed them up, and he gasped again in relief as the pain lessened.

"What… was that?" he wheezed out when he could speak again.

"The battle _was_ early this morning," the Healer mused.

"You aren't a strong Empath, are you?"

"My power is very small," Julian explained. "I can feel living things, and if I'm emotional- other things, but I'm definitely not strong enough to feel the battle from here."

"Emotional connections can sometimes boost range and strength… are you emotionally attached to anyone over there?"

Julian thought for a moment. "Well, I've met a few of the gryphons…" he said slowly. "And I would consider some of the Heralds as friends… and then there's Rowen. I consider him a very close friend," he said, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach that, ever since the incident on the Plains, seemed to spring up whenever he thought of the Changechild.

"Just a friend?"

Julian felt his face grow warm. "Yes," he stammered, and felt a familiar rush of loneliness. "Just a friend."

"Is he one of the Heralds?" Masaan asked.

"No- he's..." Julian grasped for the words in Hardornen. "The horse-man. The one with the strong face and black coat… with the black hair and green eyes, but with a body of fire and a demeanor of absolute stillness."

'_There's a song in there,_' he mused.

"Might I ask you how-"

Masaan was cut off by a scream from elsewhere in the castle.

"What was that?" both men asked simultaneously.

Another scream followed, and Masaan cursed. "Foolish women. Stay here- I'll be right back." He left the Bard alone in the room lit by candles that he could not see.

Julian extended his senses through his shields, to make sure he was totally alone. He was. Cautiously he let down the carefully crafted shields that had obviously not been well-crafted enough, to let in a barrage of feeling from the same source.

_Pain!_

Julian lost himself in a whirlwind of _feeling_ with but a single thought at its center.

_Pain!_

He tried to draw breath but spasmed as _pain! _shot through his left side.

He was dimly aware of another pain in his right torso, in the juncture between waist and ribs, but the fire_pain_ in the left of his chest overpowered it. _Pain_ was all around him, and it was his world; he was it was him was all.

Fire lanced through him- screaming…

A name… _Rowen_…

A second name… _Julian_…

Everything came flooding back, and he was aware that something terrible had happened… to… to… to… Rowen.

_Empty_

_Gone_

_Loss_

**NO! **

screaming

_Rowen_… faint, so faint… like a glowing wick on a candle at the end of a long, dark, drafty tunnel. Faint… then gone. Julian _pulled _and the candle came back, lit by some hand unseen. It grew slowly stronger, and Julian knew that it would stay lit now- a glass bell surrounded it, protecting it from the dark wind of the night. But it was fragile, still fragile…

He could feel his body beckoning and knew that he'd overextended himself too much… the pull from his body grew stronger, and he let it reel him in. Someone was shaking realJulian.

SpiritJulian drifted back into his body and let the full force of mortal agony come over him. His mind _ached._ Masaan was bent over him; the heat from his body was radiating into a freezing, all-there Julian.

"Bard?" his voice sounded fuzzy to the Bard's ears. "Bard, are you ill?"

With every rise and change in his voice, Julian's head felt like a bell that was struck by a giant hammer wielded by an ogre.

"Please," he managed to whisper. "Shhh. Overextended myself… Need… quiet. Rowen… hurt… please help… him."

"Easy, lad. Here- sit down. By the Hundred Little Gods, boy! What did you _do_?"

The man sounded angry and afraid as he helped Julian into a padded chair.

"Let… shields… down." His head was pounding, and he couldn't hear or think very well. Masaan let out a sound of disgust.

"I told you _not_ to do that!" There was a pause. "What did you see?"

"Ha… see… _Felt_ him… he's hurt… badly… I think he… died… but I… pulled… him back." He paused for a long while to catch his breath while Masaan bustled around the room. From the sounds and smells of it, he was making tea, and Julian longed for something, _anything_ to take away the pain.

"What was… wrong upstairs?" he finally managed.

"Chancellor Hythrel was found dead this morning in his room. One of the maids found him- that was what the screaming was about. But that's not the problem. The Chancellor was assassinated. And-" he hesitated. "The way he was killed. It's an Imperial tradition, and it sends a specific message. '_Your leader is next_.' He's going to kill King Tremane, and we have no idea who it is. All we know is that he's a mage, definitely a male, and will probably kill Tremane within a week. It's a clear message from the Empire. They're going to move in- but then again, they might not have gotten word back about the victory at Castogol."

"We won?" Julian asked, dazed.

"Yes. There are few wounded, and fewer dead-" Julian's stomach lurched. "And we've retaken the town. The Army is riding to evacuate all of the planned towns, and the wounded are being sent back here."

'_Wounded-_'

"Is Rowen okay? Is he coming back?" Julian asked frantically.

"Easy. They were moving too fast and not stopping often enough or long enough for us to get a clear message on the teleson, but one of the Heralds was injured, eight of the _kyree_ and five of the _ratha_ were injured, and three of the gryphons. And your Changechild," he added. "As well as a score of the humans-"

"Rowen- what's wrong with him, did they say?"

The silence in the air grew tense.

"Masaan. Masaan, tell me. _I need to know_!" Julian insisted. "Please," he pleaded. "Tell me what's wrong with Rowen."

"He's in a coma, lad. The Healers can't bring him out of it, and they say that his soul is frozen. He almost died once, but then something brought him back enough for them to patch up his body for him to stay stable. But he still won't wake up, and that's a problem. None of the Healers with them can reach his soul. He told one of the _kyree _his last words- the wolf'll have them when he comes in, the_ kyree _never forget. There's not much hope."

"Oh," was all Julian could say. If Rowen was gone… what would he do? He brought his arms around his body, hugging himself, and willed the tears not to fall.

'_But he came back last time!_' his mind protested. '_And he was fine after that,_' his heart added.

An arm slid around his shoulders, rubbing his upper arm in what seemed to be a comforting way, and he felt the heat from Masaan's body flowing into him.

He sniffled, and a hand tilted his face to the side.

"Lad, it'll be okay."

"No," he said quietly. "No it won't. If he dies…"

Warm breath tickled the side of his face and he mentally frowned. Something was wrong here…

"You'll be okay."

Julian sighed and breathed in the sterile air before one of the bigger shocks in his life occurred.

Masaan kissed him. Julian's mind went numb.

_Betrayalshockfearhopelustneedbetrayalfearshockbetrayalneedbetrayal-_

Masaan was kissing him- and Julian realized, in an epiphany of feeling, that there was only one person he ever wanted to do that. Only one person ever again.

He pushed himself away from the Healer, leaving himself sprawled in the middle of the floor and Masaan's eyes boring into him.

"Masaan- no!"

"Isn't this what you wanted, Julian?"

"Yes- no!" he corrected himself. "I want- comfort, but not in that way. Not in that way from you… I'm sorry."

Even though his Gift was screaming at him, he opened it anyway. He could feel shame radiating off of Masaan, and guilt, and a horrible feeling of self-doubt.

The man was just sitting there, staring at Julian but not staring. The shame started to seep into Julian, and he knew he had to fix this before the man went overboard.

"Masaan," Julian began quietly. "I'm sorry. You're a very nice guy, and you've got very good intentions, but I can't- I just couldn't-"

It was now or never; time to admit to himself what he'd known inside for a long time.

"I'm in love with someone else, Masaan. To have you comfort me in that way would be a betrayal to my bond with him. He may not feel the same way, but I just wouldn't be able to, and it would feel almost like consensual rape to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Masaan whispered.

"I am-" Julian's voice wavered. "I am in love with Rowen shena Tale'sedrin, and I wouldn't give it up; not for the world, not for all the wealth in the world, not for the wealth in all of the worlds, or power of a hundred Adept mages. I love him," he repeated slowly, "and nothing in the world can change that."

'_I would go through a hundred lifetimes of being blind _and _deaf, without music, without light, without sound, just to spend this lifetime with him. He may not and can not ever know it, but I will love him no matter what. I will bring him out of that coma. For him, I'll do anything._'


	16. Assassin

Uh... I would have had this up yesterday, except for the fact that my AOL account got banned. All of it. -.-;;; I did absolutely nothing illegal. (this time ;-)) I've never even recieved a warning! Whyyyyyyy...

Fimbrethil- Yep. As soon as I get the motivation to write it, I will. Which hopefully will be soon, whenever I stop worrying about that magazine submission...

Fireblade K'Chona- Didn't know that.... O.o anyway... he had someone (probably either Sa'heera or another Bard, given the description) describe the colors for him. As for the actual physical features, when he did that 'I touch your face' thing, he got a pretty clear picture. It's how a lot of blind people find out what you look like. Poor Julian doesn't have Daredevil-like powers to see things when it rains. No Firecat, either, so I just went with the finger-touching thing. It added a bit of intimacy to the scene, too, so that's another reason I did it. And I just went off on a tangent, so I'll shut up now.

Thanks are due to Sarah, Amber Stag, Wizard116, and lachrymose. And a big hug for Mischakitsune for betaing.

Disclaimer: One day, I'm going to finish my book, get it published, and then write fanfiction for it. Then I can legally say 'ha, I really do own everything that you recognize.'

Notes: If Tremane had a castle, I've never heard of it. So in here, I'm taking artistic license and naming it myself.

* * *

No peaceful bed exists for lamb or lion, 

Unless on some world out beyond Orion.

Do not instruct the owls to spare the mice.

Owls acting as owls must is not a vice.

-_The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 16: Assassin **

The dark figure made his way along the small lip running around the wall of the new castle, clad in dark grays and browns to blend in with the stone. The architects building Castle Freegryph had put much work into making it impenetrable, but they obviously hadn't done their best, seeing that he was able to slip in so easily. After passing fifteen windows, scaling up to another story and climbing carefully under a lit, open window, he made it to the windowpane that shielded his prey from the outside world. Using his small Gift of Magesight, he peered at the window and then through it, attempting to detect any small traceries of magic indicating a trap. There was nothing. He opened the window without a creak and stealthily crept into the room of his second victim, the Lord Rhandon, who oversaw relations with the people of Hardorn. The assassination of their leaders in such a public fashion and in such an order should swiftly result in rioting among the commoners, or so the plan went.

As he pressed himself against the outer wall of the room after closing the window, a dark shape moved against the opposite wall. He automatically tensed, and flicked his wrist, feeling one of the extra poisoned darts kept in an arm sheath drop into his hand. They were kept for just this purpose; unwanted company. With the skill of a master assassin, he drew his hand back and let the small, deadly missile fly, striking his target and killing him before the pain could even register. He waited for precisely three minutes to make sure that the poison had worked, and crossed the room without a sound to investigate the shadow. As he bent over the tiny form, he could vaguely make out fur and a long tail, with pointed ears on top of its head. Just a kitten. Just an ordinary housecat. He pushed the small body away into a corner with his foot, and released another dart, poising it and moving into the lord's chamber.

On the opposite side of the room stood a bed, and sleeping on the bed was the target, entwined in the arms of what had to be a mistress. She couldn't quite get her arms around his bulk, but it looked like she had tried. Undoubtedly she was doing it for money. The figure smirked. She smiled now in sleep, but undoubtedly wouldn't be very happy when she woke up to find herself sharing the bed with a dead man.

He snapped his wrist back and flicked it forward, letting the tiny dart fly to bury itself in one of the folds of the old man's neck. Rhandon took in a deep breath and exhaled it in a small sigh, then relaxed completely, going passively into the dark arms of death.

Job complete.

The figure made his way slowly out of the room, back through the dark outer chamber and out the window. His presence wasn't required right now; he still had time to go back out onto the grounds and change back into his courtly persona, mussing himself just enough to make the alibi that he'd just come back from a brief ride to a tavern plausible.

He untied and mounted the horse that he'd left tethered outside the castle walls, cantering about a bit to make the beast sweaty from the 'ride.'

When he came back inside, the halls were almost completely silent, with the only movements coming from solitary pages wandering the hall, the occasional ineffective guard patrolling the hallway, and once one of the few _ratha_ left behind while the rest went to Castogol. The beast passed him silently like a wraith, deep gray in the shadows, but its tawny fur shimmered in a lone square of moonlight. The assassin had forced himself to continue onward as if nothing was wrong, but he'd immediately thrown up his tightest shields, and the construct had gone by without a word. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when the _ratha _turned a corner, and then the assassin continued onward, back to his rooms, and his bed. He certainly couldn't report back to the Emperor from here, not with those damned _kyree_ with that unnatural ability to sniff out magework, so he did something completely unassassin-like. He went to bed, determined to get _some_ sleep before the shrieking of the mistress woke the castle.

In another room in the same section of the palace, a Bard stirred uneasily in his sleep, dreaming not of death, but of rejection.

_"You what?_" _Rowen asked blankly. _

_"I love you, Rowen," Julian replied steadily. "You are the only one that could ever fill my life. You and you alone are my love. No one else has ever sent my heart into painful spasms when they enter a room; no one but you can make me smile when I feel down. You almost make me see again, and I only wish that I could see you, just once-"_

_"Save it," Rowen told him. "I could never love you in that way, Julian. I'm sorry, but I just don't feel the same way about you-" he gave the Bard a pitying stare." That you feel for me. I'm sorry, Julian." _

_At Rowen's rebuff, Julian felt his heart tear. He'd just poured his heart and soul out to the warrior, and all the man did was refuse him? Reject all that he was offering? _

_NO! _

_The sky split and the ground crumbled beneath Julian as he struggled to find a foothold. He reached for Rowen- to find that the Changechild was on the other side of a wide chasm that Julian was sure hadn't been there before. _

_"Rowen, help me!" he shouted, attempting to stay upright on ground that he could not see. _

_Rowen gave him another pitiful look. "I'm sorry, Julian. I don't love you." _

_I don't love you. _

_Echo _

_I don't love you. _

_Echo_

_I don't love you. _

_Julian screamed his pain to the Havens, but no one answered. He was alone on a dusty, windy plain with no one anywhere. _

_I don't love you. _

_The cursed words had followed him here. _

_'I don't love you.' The wind mockingly took up the cry all around him, simultaneously as soft as a baby's breath and as loud as a crack of thunder. _

_I don't love you. _

_Julian clapped his hands over his ears. _

_"Stop it!" he cried in vain, knowing it was useless. _

_I don't love you. _

_"Stop it!" _

_Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it stop it stop itstop itstopitstopit_stop

_Silence. The words were gone, and he heard nothing but the soundless moan of the wind. He was truly, truly alone. He could not see. He had no shelter. He had no friend. He had no Rowen. _

In that lonely room in the diplomat's wing, a lonely young man twisted the covers about him and cried silently in his sleep, wanting to confess his love to a person who would never accept it.

* * *

The convoy was taking too long! Julian squirmed in his seat. Rowen was in the convoy, oblivious to the world, and it was late! What was taking them?

Masaan laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, Julian. They're just a little late."

"A little late? They're a candlemark late! Where are they?"

"Relax, please. You're making _me_ nervous. You know that a Healer can't perform his duty unless he's calm," Masaan chided him.

The Healer had established himself as Julian's chief friend in the Hardornen Court, and kept him up to date on updates from the convoy. The conversation from four days before had been forgotten by both, though Julian still felt some guilt about rejecting Masaan outright.

Later, he'd had one of the recently befriended pages describe Masaan. The little page was only too happy to, for Masaan was apparently his younger uncle, a Healer who had come with Tremane's forces to take over Hardorn. When the plot failed, and the soldiers were stranded in Hardorn, Masaan's older brother, one of the soldiers, had fallen in love with a widowed tavern maid, who'd had only one son- Sendan, the page. Sendan now had a little brother, but he was still the intelligent boy that had been able to become a page, and now he was intelligently helping Julian.

He'd described Masaan as a young man, twenty-one years of age but already an established Healer. Slightly short of stature, but not of heart, he had a neat brown goatee with a slim moustache, and his hair was medium-brown colored, wild and curly. His eyes were a steely grey-blue, and in demeanor he was a comedic young man, with a gentle temper and a smile that could charm a gnat off an ass. He was the exact person that Julian would have been looking for before, but after Rowen... after Rowen, he could never bring himself to love another. His confession had allowed him to realize the exact depths of his feelings for the wild Shin'a'in, and let his inner feelings come into the light.

Rowen was always on his mind; if not on the top, then he would be hiding in the shadows, waiting to burst out in unexpected moments; always there, always lurking.

Before Rowen, it seemed, there had been a void, never fillable by any man woman or child. Now that void was full, and Julian knew instinctively that if the hole appeared again, then he would die. Somewhere in his mind floated the possibility that if their positions were reversed, Rowen would die, too, but it was only half-formed.

Right now, they awaited the appearance of the convoy carrying the dead and injured warriors and Heralds, and the abused women and children of Castogol. All of the men of the town had apparently insisted on accompanying the rescue force to the other towns to help reinforce the imperativeness of the evacuation. A few of the less battered women and children had elected to go with them to establish the ruthlessness of the Empire, and it was working wonders on the bordertowns. Already two of the villages had decided to pack up, and one was already gone. On a dimmer note, several of the farms that the detachment had passed had been found to be ransacked, with no indications to the whereabouts of the inhabitants. One of the farms had obviously been interrupted in the middle of dinner, for there had been plates on the table and food in the ovens, and all of the cattle and horses had been missing- a bad sign. It looked as if the Empire had raided those farms, leaving no survivors.

The assassin still hadn't been caught, and Tremane was still worried, and half of the nobles feared that they would be next. One older man, Lord Rhandon, formerly involved in populace relations had been found dead in his bed three days agone by the mistress that he'd been sleeping with. They'd had their pleasure and gone to bed together, but she'd woken up with a dead man.

Alarm was slowly seeping throughout the castle, palpable to even Julian's weak Empathy. The guards and the mages had no idea of who the killer might be, and the noblility were one and all making up excuses to visit their country estates. It hadn't really affected him, panicked as he already was about Rowen, but he still sensed it. It puzzled everyone. How could the Empire have gotten a spy in this far?

A steady stream was pouring inland from Castogol to the western side of the country, being joined by trickles of other people who had heard of the takeover of Castogol and wished to avoid it. Now Julian and Masaan were waiting in the Entrance Hall of the castle, the taller of the two occasionally getting up to pace up and down the length of the Hall anxiously.

Masaan was about to chastise Julian for worrying so much when Sendan came tearing into the Hall. "Julian, Masaan, the convoy just entered the city walls! There are a lot of wagons, and King Tremane wants every Healer possible on duty to assist the wounded."

Masaan nodded. Obviously he had been expecting this. He bent down to the boy's level- only a few inches, really. The page was tall for his age, and the Healer was short. "Sendan, can you take Julian to the convoy while I go join my fellows?"

The page regarded him scornfully. "Of course. Julian wants to see his lover, and you want me to take him there."

There was an audible gasp from Julian, and Masaan spared him a quick glance to see that the Bard was blushing. That tiny part of him wished that Julian was blushing for him, but he brushed it aside. "Right, Sendan, but just... don't say that to anyone else. If anyone asks where you are taking Julian, tell them that you're taking him to see his _friend_." He winked at the boy, and Sendan winked back.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Julian, Sendan, I'll see the two of you later. Good luck with Rowen."

"And you, Healer."

* * *

Hiro: Okay, so this chapter was a bit off the wall... 


	17. I Think You Need To See A Healer

I've been gone for too long… I've been working on a half-dozen short stories and submitting them to magazines, so I've been a bit busy. If anyone knows of any fiction/fantasy magazines, please give me the name and/or web address in your review.

Thanks to Fireblade K'Chona, Wizard116, and Sarah. Thanks to Mischakitsune for betaing once again.

The Author being stupid: I was actually going to try and pair Sendan up with Masaan until I realized that Masaan was his uncle and that that might not get very good responses from the readers… I could still do it, since they aren't related by blood and whatnot… Tell me what you think on that.

And then I wrote like half the chapter and then I realized that I was writing like Julian could see everything. There was something in every damn sentence, so I had to go back and rewrite the whole thing.

* * *

Now take my hand and hold it tight.

I will not fail you here tonight

For failing you I fail myself,

And place my soul upon a shelf.

In Hell's library without light,

I will not fail you here tonight.

_-The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 17: I Think You Need To See A Healer**

Darkness surrounded him, seeping through his very being. He was the Darkness, and yet he was Light. Luminescence burned through the Darkness until he saw only the light, and he had an innate revelation, and then the Light vanished.

He stood on a grassy knoll in the middle of a forest and watched a gently flowing brook babble its way over river-smoothed rocks and whisper around bends in the earth. He didn't know why he was there, but the scenery was very nice, and it was anything anyone could have wished for.

He knelt by the stream and scooped up a handful of water, bringing it to his lips, and he drank, feeling the cold water refresh something inside of him.

He drank his fill and went back to the small hill and lay back, folding his hands behind his head, content to simply stare at the sky and forget that his name was ever Rowen shena Tale'sedrin.

"Oh Gods."

Julian internally stared at the pain emanating from the wreck of his best friend. It was undoubtedly Rowen, but he felt almost like chopped meat. The Healers had removed the arrows, and Healed the more life-threatening wounds, but couldn't Heal the rest for fear of accidentally breaking the soul's connection with the body.

After setting him up in a room, they'd finally let a frantic Julian in to see the warrior, and the Bard was horrified. Rowen felt even worse than he had that day on the Dhorisha Plains. Rowen was covered in small cuts and bruises then, but now he was… well, _dead _would be Julian's first word of choice. _Empty_ would be another. The Changechild's presence was nowhere in the room, and had he not known that Rowen was in the room, he would have been wondering why a room so deep in the castle smelled like horse. There was no noise at all, and Julian would have thought he was dead but for the incredibly slow rise and fall of his chest; a single breath could take an entire minute.

Where was his _soul_? Julian doubted that it was on the Moonpaths- messages to and from Valdemar proved that none of the Shamans could See Rowen, and the Star-Eyed had said nothing on the matter.

Talia too, had had no advice to offer, even though she'd been in the same position once, wandering in the darkness as Rowen was undoubtedly doing now.

Sendan regarded him doubtfully. "How are you supposed to fix this?"

"I don't know." Julian collapsed into a chair next to the two pushed together beds that Rowen was lying on. "I just don't know."

The page padded over quietly. Julian could feel his gaze, which then vanished and returned, and Julian knew that the boy was looking at both him and Rowen. Suddenly something occurred to the Bard. "Why aren't you scared of him? A lot of the courtiers and servants in Valdemar were, and a lot still are, but not you, and not many of the people here. Why?"

Sendan laughed. "Don't you know _anything?_ With the gryphons and all of the other nonhumans stationed here, who's going to be scared of another boggle? He looks half-human, so that helps a lot. But most of the people here are used to seeing nonhumans, so Rowen wasn't a big shock."

"Oh." Now Julian felt stupid. Of course the people here would be used to seeing the gryphons and _ratha_, so why be scared of Rowen?

Now Sendan was looking at Rowen and Julian oddly again.

"What is it?" Julian asked curiously.

"Did you know that you both resonate the same way?"

"Resonate?"

"Yeah. If I look at the two of you together, it's like-" The page sounded like he was struggling for words. "Like you both give off a mage-aura of the same color, and they pulse at the same time, too, and it's got the same texture."

"Okay… Sendan, have you been near the Infirmary lately?"

"No."

"You should be. I think you need to see a Healer if you're seeing things."

"I'm not seeing things!" Sendan protested. "It really is there! I can't touch it, but it's definitely there!"

"I still think that you need to-"

"What does he need to do?" Masaan asked as he bustled into the room.

"See a Healer. He's seeing things."

"Sendan, are you-"

"No! Well, yes, but I _am_ seeing this, and I know it's real!"

"Seeing _what_?" Masaan asked in exasperation.

"Seeing the aura around Julian that's the exact same as the one that's around the Shin'a'in!"

The Healer stared at him for a second, then shifted his gaze to the Bard. "Julian?"

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Julian said faintly.

"An aura?"

"Like a haze."

"A haze- Sendan, have you ever been tested for any Gifts?"

"No…"

"Well, you're about to be," Masaan said firmly.

"I thought that testing for Gifts was a high level spell for mages," Julian commented.

"Maybe in your country, but in the Empire we make the best use of what we have, and when a youngster turns ten, they're tested for any Gifts. Most of the Healers in the Empire know how to test for Gifts, and I'm one of them."

Julian cast a quick glance at Rowen as he Felt Masaan's shields come down, and he 'followed' the Healer's mental path into Sendan's head, then gasped at the 'view.' There were little channels running everywhere, some glowing faintly, and Julian knew instinctively that this was Sendan's mind. 'Up ahead' he could 'see' a bigger channel, glowing a bright, happy grayish-purple, and it was fairly wide, compared to another light green channel that felt almost like-

'_Empathy! Sendan's an Empath, but not like me… he's got even less of the Gift than I do, but he's got another Gift of-_'

:_Julian?_:

:_What do you see?_:

'_How did you know I was here?_'

:_I sensed you following __me._:

Oh. '_He's an Empath, but what's the other Gift?_'

:_I don't know. It's nothing I recognize- is it like anything from Valdemar?Firestarting, maybe?_:

'_In a page? UnChosen with Gifts tend to go into professions related to the Gift. If he was a Firestarter, he'd be in the Guard already. Could it be Mindspeech?_'

:_No. I would recognize my own Talent. It's not Healing, and it's not any form of Mindspeech, or Fetching like Envoy Shensa has. It's something different._:

'_A Wild Talent?_'

:_Quite possibly._:

Masaan pulled them both out of Sendan's mind, easing them both back into their physical bodies gently.

"That's it?" Sendan asked.

Masaan answered, then asked a question of his down. "Yes. Sendan, have you been seeing anything else odd lately?"

"Other than the auras of these two?"

"Yes."

"Well, a few of the _kyree_ have had this bond, and once, years ago, when the Lady Elsepeth and the Tayledras Darkwind visited, I saw the same thing around them. Are Julian and Rowen Gifted?"

"Not in the way that you think."

"What?" Julian asked impatiently. "What do you think?"

"Julian," Masaan said quietly, "you've been able to hear Rowen over vast distances, feel his pain _over many miles_, and bring him back from the dark arms of death, which _no _Healer can do, and you still don't know?"

"Know _what_?" the Bard almost shouted in frustration.

Sendan answered before Julian could throttle the Healer.

"He means you're Lifebonded."


	18. Through The Door to Summer

Wow... I'm not on page one anymore... that feels kinda weird. Er- it's been about five days short of a month or so… I don't supposed you'd all accept the excuse of writing other stuff and the fact that now that I'm actually applying myself to things other than writing…. I've also been agonizing over other stuff that's been rather obsessive of me, and it's rather distracting to boot. You can read about it by using the Xanga link in my profile. I've also been spending a lot of time at the park, (chilling, reminiscing, playing the violin…) and whenever I get back- really when I leave the park- I'm exhausted, and sleep like the rest of the day and stuff. Which makes my family think that I'm going there to do drugs or something. (I'm not.) And I got my first rejection letter from a magazine, so blah.

Disclaimer: Breezefire owns Parnit and Kertin. You all know what else I don't own. T.T Too much.

* * *

**Replies to Reviewers: **

Fireblade K'Chona- Were you being serious or sarcastic?

Also thanks to- cat, lachrymose, The Great Green Leaf of Peril (love the name), DarklessVasion, Fimbrethil, Amber Stag, Mooshadow, and wizard116.

Thanks to Breezefire for letting me borrow Parnit and Kertin.

And once more…. _We love you, Mischakitsune!!!_

Notes: The triple lifebond is established canon in the Heralds of Valdemar series. Mercedes Lackey referenced it in the Arrows trilogy, in _Arrows of the Queen._

* * *

All of us are travelers lost,   
our tickets arranged at a cost   
unknown but beyond our means.   
This odd itinerary of scenes   
--enigmatic, strange, unreal--   
leaves us unsure how to feel.   
No postmortem journey is rife   
with more mystery than life.

_- The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 18: Through The Door to Summer **

Julian sat next to the comatose Changechild, head spinning. Lifebonded? They were lifebonded? How-when-_why?_

Something that Bard Seneca had once said in a class floated out of the Netherlands of his mind.

_"There have been quite a few lifebonds in the history of Velgarth," _she'd said. _"One of the most notable being that upon which 'Sun and Shadow' is based. However, even though most lifebonds are usually written about as being romantic, loving relationships, most are between quite unwilling partners. Few lifebonds ever end up happy; fewer still end up being romantic, as we see it. Lifebonds are a fairly random phenomenon- they are rare among Heralds and the Gifted, and even rarer still among the general population. They occur when two people meet and their personalities complement each other so well that a bond is formed. Occasionally it will form the _extremely_ rare three-way lifebond, but very, very rarely. The only one with any living partners- in fact the only one that we know of in the past- oh, five generations- left involved the Heralds Keren and Sherril. Before the legendary three-way could occur, however, the third would-be partner, Herald Ylsa died, so the possibility was moot. Keren and Ylsa were already Bonded; Sherril would have completed it. Just remember that lifebonds aren't always what they appear to be, and there is much running between what is obvious. So few songs have been written about the negative side of lifebonding; it's a sad aspect of the ultimate bonding that no one ever wants to hear about- the dark ending to a should-have-been fairytale."_

"I wish I'd never heard about it," he said out loud. Masaan had ushered Sendan out, presumably to quiz him about the fact that he could see lifebonds. In a way, Julian was glad; Healers couldn't help with this anyway.

He dropped his head into his hands and stared sightlessly at the floor. When-_if­_ Rowen woke up, would he know? _Could_ he know? Julian had no idea. But if Rowen knew, surely he'd be disgusted- _repelled_. Julian didn't know if the Shin'a'in knew of his sexual preferences, but odds were that if he didn't, he would soon.

But… the only lifebonded couples that he knew personally were the Lady Elspeth and the Tayledras Envoy Darkwind, and the Heraldic pairings of Dirk and Talia, Kerowyn and Eldan, Selenay and Daren, and Keren and Sherril. Well- actually he knew more lifebonded people than most people had ever heard of, but they were Gifted, one and all.

So how would an unGifted Shin'a'in and a slightly Empathetic Bard benefit from the soul-bonding of a lifebond? If they didn't… If- _when _Rowen decided to break the bond… it could be done. There were only three recorded instances of that happening in the history of Valdemar. One- between a Countess and a Bard- the bond hadn't fully set in when the King's Own of the time removed it, but it had turned the formerly matronly woman into a brittle, pathetic harridan. The Bard had lost all initiative to write anything, but had managed to scrape out one last ballad before he'd died. The ending verses came echoing back to Julian.

_And so both lives were e'er changed_

_The Countess inside died of grief_

_The Bard was left an empty shell_

_Bereft of love, then lived in Hell. _

_Lifebonding's not a loving thing_

_It turns your heart to cold, hard stone_

_Thoughts in heart are asunder tore_

_And scars your soul forevermore._

He couldn't quite remember the entirety of the song, but it was along the same lines, and made moods drop whenever he played it. If Rowen didn't acknowledge the bond, then it would be painful, so painful. The second broken bond had been between two women. Of a more serious nature, this one had almost started a war. One of the women was Valdemaran, but she'd been autistic- an artist who produced fabulous paintings, and fairly intelligent for an autist. She was shaych, and the other woman… was not; she was the Rethwellan Envoy. It had caused a diplomatic incident that had only been resolved by a marriage of state between a Princess of the offended nation and the Valdemaran Heir to the Throne. And the third- the most recent, in the time of King Roald, between a Guardsman and a servant. Both were shaych, but the Guard had rejected the servant's love for his own lover, and ordered the bond removed. The servant- Kertin- had died, but the Guardsman lived on, forever scarred, half of his soul and all of his heart missing as he continued, not really alive and not really dead. His life had been a wretched one; the lover had left him, and he could never look anyone in the face without the person feeling an incredible sadness and see insanity lurking behind the mahogany eyes. He died alone, friendless and bereft of any love or joy in his life.

'_Will I die like that?_' Julian wondered bleakly. He sat next to Rowen for what must have been hours before he stiffly moved his neck. It popped, and he groaned. '_It's cold in here!_'

Gingerly he reached out to take Rowen's lax fingers in his own. They were freezing and felt- well, _mushy_, and there was no resistance in the muscles. Rowen's hand was so big compared to his own; relaxed it covered his own like a blanket, but with the opposite effect. He squeezed gently, hoping to feel some- hoping to feel _any_ squeeze back. There was nothing.

'_He may not feel me now,_' Julian thought. '_But can I feel him? Can I reach him?_' He had to try. Hastily he scribbled a note to Masaan explaining what he was doing, hoping it was legible, and set it down on the table. He shifted into a comfortable position on the uncomfortable wooden chair, and went into a light trace, still holding Rowen's hand in his own. Gently, so gently he expanded his outer shields to included Rowen- reinforced them- then let his personal shields come down, suddenly becoming much more _aware _of the living breathing body so near to his own. He breathed in, then out, letting his consciousness flow out of his body like water- out of him and into Rowen.

Unlike his own mind, this had feelings of darkness to it. When he was a child, he'd gotten lost at a Winter Festival, and the Watch hadn't found him until a few candlemarks before dawn. The Festival had long since closed, and everything had been dark and eerie. Rowen's mind was much like that. Where was he? This wasn't sleeping- sleeping had the feeling of a shaded candle to it. No, this was definitely something else. He probed deeper- past memories of Rowen as a child, past his defeat by the Swordsworn, past dreams and memories and hopes and into the memory- the horrible memory of _Change_, the moment when his very _mind_ melded with that of his horse, and the pain and tormenting agony of liquefying bones and melting flesh that twisted into positions they were never meant to be in- his organs shifting and melting and disappearing and growing to form all new systems, and the memory stopped. There was a door, in front of him. Julian blinked. It was a shuttered window. _Blink._ Door again. _Blink._ Window. _Blink._ Door. Against all good judgment, he put his hand to the knob- twisted, and felt a cool breeze flow through him- opened the door- and found himself in a warm field of grass and sunshine and- _color_. Dull yellows of dying grass, healthy green of the new, the living- the _living_, vibrant view of the cloudless summer sky over the Dhorisha Plains.

"Bright Lady," he whispered, mind forcing him to sit down before his legs did it for him.

He could _see_ again, and it was- indescribable. His eyes filled up and a tear trickled down his cheek. The color- oh, the _color_ was beyond description, bright and wonderful and then- then somewhere he heard a distant call.

"_Julian!_" The sound of his own name was joyful and terrifying at the same time. It was Rowen, with two legs instead of four, running towards Julian, trailed by two people who could only be his parents. Rowen- his beauty was magnificent, composed of sharp planes and a strong nose, all covered by bronze skin and capped by a long fall of night-dark hair.

He ran up to Julian, smiling, then slowed and the smile slid away from his face and he stared down at Julian with confusion clear in his emerald eyes.

"Do I know you?" He asked the question in Shin'a'in, yet Julian could understand him. But…

Was this a game?

"Rowen, it's me- Julian."

"I… know you, but I can't remember how. Or why. Or when we met. I just know your name, and I know we were… friends?"

Julian was speechless. Rowen didn't remember him? He looked the- not Changechild over. Rowen was dressed in Shin'a'in colors of bright blue and earthy brown. Canvas pants covered his legs, and a vest was the only thing adorning his slightly muscled chest. Contrasting with his other form, there was only one black thing on him- his knee-length leather boots, which his pants were loosely tucked into and then folded over.

"You honestly don't remember who I am?"

"No," Rowen replied. His parents came up behind him. "All I know is that I know you and that we're friends."

"That's- you don't remember Gehdri or the- or the Change?" Julian asked cautiously.

Rowen looked at him curiously. "No." He cocked his head to one side. "Should I?" He gazed at Julian innocently. Here... he seemed less cynical and more- more happy. And a lot less mystical and broody.

"Yes, Rowen. Yes, you should." Julian looked behind him to make sure that the window-door was still there. It was. "Do you see that door?"

Rowen looked around. "No."

'_What?_' Julian moved back to stand next to the door. "This door."

"Is it a door of air?"

"No."

"Are you ill?"

"No."

"Where did you come from?"

"The door that I'm standing next to."

Rowen stared at him stubbornly. "There is no door."

"Will you just-" Julian grabbed Rowen by the arm and started dragging him to the door, but the taller man dug in his heels.

"Is this some sort of game?" the Shin'a'in asked.

Julian decided to try a different tactic. "Have there been odd storms lately?"

"Yes, but they stopped after I went out to scout."

"And you came back."

"Yes."

"Whole."

"Yes."

"Not half-man, half-horse?"

"_Are_ you sick?"

"No!"

"Then why are you asking me all of these strange questions?"

"Because this isn't you!" Julian took a look at the field surrounding them. "This field- these colors- I can't see them where we belong. I'm _blind_, Rowen. I'm blind and you were Changed in the Mage Storms."

Confusion clouded Rowen's eyes again. "Changed… But I'm… and Gehdri... this body isn't mine… Why are we here?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's something your mind created, I don't know. But we need to get out of here," Julian said, feeling the link with his own body grow tenuous. Whatever this world was made of, it wasn't going to let him keep the link with the real world stable much longer.

"Here is home, Julian. Here is home, at least for me," Rowen protested.

"No. _There_ is home. You have Sa'heera, and Nadar, and all of the Heralds and wonderful people back in Valdemar and on the Plains waiting for you. It's the _real world_ back through that door, Rowen. Back there… back there your parents are dead. They never made it past your tenth birthday."

Rowen turned to look at the neutral visages of his 'parents.' They looked at him sadly and nodded. "He's right, son," the father said quietly. "We are how you remember us, but what's missing is made of yourself." Both of them hugged their son and vanished without another word, tears falling silently down both sets of cheeks.

The remaining Shin'a'in turned back to Julian. "And if I go back through that door, I'll remember everything?"

"I hope so."

Rowen stepped forward and caught up Julian's hand in his own. "Then we'll face whatever happens out there. Together." And he proceeded to drag them both through the door, Julian's hand still clasped firmly in his own.

* * *

So there ya go. Rowenyish humor... And the togetherness. X.X Almost at a hundred reviews... X.X 


	19. Nowhere Can A Secret Keep

Yeah…. I probably would have gotten this done earlier… but midway through the chapter I stole someone's Rubik's cube…. That should explain it… so far I only have the blue side. L

**108 reviews…wow… I've hit a hundred reviews… Hey Amber Stag, you owe me moneh! **

Reviewer replies:

Fireblade K'Chona- oops…. Sorry… thought they were, but can't exactly change that now…

Lil-sis4556- spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam!

Thanks to- Wizard116, GIJew25 (when I saw your name my eyebrows hit the ceiling…) Ballgirl, Moondance, Amber Stag, Fimbrethil, lachrymose, Shadowfax, and Jess.

And once again, I sent Mischakitsune the equivalent of a child's crayon scrawl and she sends me back museum-quality stoofs.

* * *

Nowhere can a secret keep  
always secret, dark and deep,  
half so well as in the past,  
buried deep to last, to last. 

Keep it in your own dark heart,  
otherwise the rumors start.

After many years have buried  
secrets over which you worried,  
no confidant can then betray  
all the words you didn't say.

Only you can then exhume  
secrets safe within the tomb  
of memory, of memory,  
within the tomb of memory.

_-The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 19: Nowhere Can A Secret Keep**

The last vestiges of a very strange dream lingered with Rowen as he crawled out of unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a Hardornen Healer hauling Julian towards a cot still being dragged into a corner by a small boy.

Unfortunately he couldn't move, and any attempts to try brought pain from his midsection, and even worse, a horrible, _empty_ pain from the right side of his chest.

'_Julian…_'

What had happened? In the dream… in the dream he'd been whole… been _human_, back on the Plains with his… parents? But that couldn't be right; his parents had been dead for fifteen years, and it was at around this age that they'd been together… So that's all it had been? A bittersweet dream of wishes that would never come true. But… Julian had come, and awakened him from an amnesiac state of awareness, and then… then what? Hard as he tried, Rowen couldn't remember anything but a vague wisp of Julian's blue eyes filled with a great and terrible sadness… and a mournful voice saying, "_This field- these colors- I can't see them where we belong. I'm blind, Rowen. I'm blind and you were Changed in the Mage Storms._"

He looked at the Bard now lying on the bed and halfway covered with a blanket with a new appreciation. Even if the dream wasn't real, what Julian had been doing was incredible. Following him all the way to Hardorn and staying to wait for him… Rowen didn't know why Julian was doing all of this, but he appreciated it greatly. But why was Julian unconscious? And why had the Healer been hauling him to the bed like he'd just dropped off cold from a standing position? '_Okay, sitting_,' Rowen amended the thought when his eyes drifted towards a chair lying on its side on the floor near his cot.

He watched the Healer fuss over the Bard before the man turned to him and narrowed his eyes.

"You're awake, I see," he said, voice heavy with the unmistakable Empire accent of those who had defected with Tremane.

"Yes," Rowen rasped through a throat that felt like he had been breathing cold, dry winter air on the Plains for weeks.

"How do you feel?"

"Weak."

"That's to be expected. You were in a coma, you know. Julian had to pull you out of it. I still don't know what he did, but it must have put a lot of strain on his mind; he has a headache the size of Hardorn right now. When I came in, he was lying on the floor and you were… well, you had more _color_ in your face, that's for sure. He left a note saying something about trying to reach you and bring you out of the coma. I can only assume that it worked," he said dryly.

"Oh," was all Rowen could say.

"Did you know that you died?" the boy said. "He saved you then, too." He pointed at Julian.

"I died?"

"Went out like a candle," the boy said happily. "But he lit you again, and then you were in the coma, and then you came back here with the convoy."

"Convoy?"

"The one transporting wounded soldiers. For someone who Julian said was supposed to be a killing machine, you sure went down fast," the boy said.

Rowen felt unexplainably chagrined. "I killed about fifty soldiers, boy. Then I had a large ball of energy blow up in my face, had to fight more soldiers, then got shot twice. Would that qualify as an excuse?"

The boy stared at him. "The Herald Mage lasted longer than you did."

Rowen felt his lips curve into a smile at the boy's forwardness. "How is she?"

"She's fine," the Healer said. "In fact she's been asking about you whenever the rescue force is between towns."

A worry that had been lurking in the back of his mind suddenly crystallized. "How many did we save?"

"As many as we could. The same at the second town. At the third town… the soldiers decided that they should make as big a blow as possible, though. I'm sorry, but… they killed all of the hostages before we even got there."

Rowen's spirits sank. "And what of the other towns?"

"We sent half of the forces around in a pincer maneuver and caught three other towns offguard, especially when we kill the mage first. We saved many more civilians there and managed to take half of the soldiers as prisoners. Then we just started putting Mage-shields over every town and flooding them with a common gas used in the Empire to subdue riots. The mages can't defend against something they can't see or smell, so that's been working very well so far."

"Ah. At least you're having luck there. The murderer…" The man spread his hands helplessly.

Rowen looked up sharply. "We heard rumors of a murderer lurking in the castle, but we thought it was just the rumor-mill!"

"No," the Healer sighed. "It seems that there _is_ a murderer. He's already assassinated Chancellor Hythrel and Lord Rhandon, the Minister of Civilian Relations."

"S_heka_."

"My thoughts exactly."

"And they don't know who it is?"

"No. All of the assassinations have been done without magic. The only clue we have is that we think Tremane is next. Traditionally, if the target is of secondary Heir-status or higher, two men are murdered before your main victim, and the method of murder determines whether it will be the secondary Heir, the Heir himself, the Emperor, or the Empress."

"Empress?"

"Well- actually…" the Healer coughed. "She's not really an Empress per se, she's just really there as a function. We haven't really _had_ an Empress since the reign of the fifteenth Emperor, Shellin."

"Why?"

"The Empress attempted to murder Shellin and he destroyed her, mind first."

Rowen winced.

"So we really haven't had an Empress since that. Too much mistrust. There have been a few pretenses, but other than that, there have been none; only liaisons and Princesses that never survived past giving birth to the baby."

The Healer looked at a pot that was brewing in a corner. "Tea's ready." He poured a single cup then brought it over to Julian. He propped the Bard up with one arm then forced the tea down his throat with the other. Apparently it wasn't very hot since the Healer didn't look too worried.

"He was very worried about you," the unnamed Healer said quietly.

"Was the- the dream real?" Rowen asked just as quietly.

"Dream?" the Healer asked sharply.

"I was home… back on the Plains, and my parents were there. I couldn't remember anything, and then Julian was there and we went through an invisible door and I… I remembered everything."

"Well, coma victims often don't remember a lot if they wake up. I can only assume that the dream was a perception of awareness and when Julian came he changed it and then broke it."

"Then it was real?"

"Yes."

_I'm blind… _

Before, he'd never truly realized what Julian had lost. If everything in that 'dream' _was_ real, then Julian had given up sight a second time… all for him.

He looked again at the Bard on the bed. '_What drives you, Julian?_' he silently wondered. '_What drives you to sacrifice so much for so little?_'

_You,_ a small voice in his mind whispered, startling him. It was like a small breeze of wind; there, then gone.

He dismissed it casually and went back to staring, (albeit broodingly) at Julian J'Erthan, Bard of Valdemar.

* * *

Julian awoke with a groan and what had to be the worst headache he'd ever had. It made all of the other ones seem like pleasant dreams, and opened his eyes- to blackness. He was blind again. He sighed softly and was rewarded with a sudden noise from another side of the room. It sounded sort of like a mixture between a gasp and a snort.

"Julian?" Rowen's voice sounded unnaturally worried.

"Rowen!" Julian ignored the demon that tried to claw its way out of his head with every word. "You're alright! I mean- of course you are, I just don't- I didn't think that- what I mean is-" He stumbled incessantly over his words and felt himself blush.

'_Damn. Why can't I talk without stammering? He's not going to feel the lifebond, so why should I be worried? But… I didn't feel the lifebond either until Sendan pointed it out and I actively looked for it. Is it possible that Rowen could know, even though he's not Gifted?_'

He gently let his shields down a fraction, and feeling no one else in the room, expanded them to include Rowen.

He couldn't feel anything from the Changechild except for worry, confusion, and a strong sense of guilt mixed with trust aimed at- Julian himself?

'_Why?_'

Julian closed his shields. "Rowen, did I do something wrong?"

He could hear the other man jump slightly.

"No, there's nothing wrong. You didn't do anything wrong, if that's what you're asking. I'm just wondering… why?"

'_Huh?_'

"Why what?"

"Why you've been doing all of these things to help me. Why you followed me here, why you brought me out of the coma just now, why you saved my life when I died after Castogol, why you brought me to Valdemar, and why… why you even saved me from being killed by the Heralds in the first place." His voice spiraled up and broke. "Why, Julian?"

This was not the question Julian had been expecting.

"I really don't know," he began slowly. "When I met you… you were… well, you weren't exactly kind, but you were nice enough, and I could detect nothing from you but slight concern for my safety. You were nice, and you were… you were _human,_ Rowen. Monsters aren't human. Then you came to me and asked me for help, and you needed it so badly… Could I really have told them to shoot? Then you needed sanctuary. The bandits would have come back with a mob eventually… So I offered you that. I followed you here because you are my friend, and I couldn't bear the thought of you having no friend in all of Hardorn." Okay, _that_ was a small stretch, but it was better than the truth that Rowen would not want to hear.

"How could I leave you in the coma? You are very dear to my heart, Rowen. I couldn't lose you." That was close enough to the truth.

"But you could have died!" Rowen protested. "The Healer told me that what you did was extremely dangerous!"

"And you expected me to sit back and watch you waste away from lack of eating? If I hadn't tried to save you, I would have regretted it all my life. Besides, I know when my mind is being stretched too much. I didn't reach the brink, and I would have come back before it was too late. I couldn't leave you there."

'_Wouldn't I?_'

Would he have really left the world if he had been unable to help Rowen? He had sight, and color there. If his tether had snapped, what would have happened?

Julian wasn't sure he really wanted to find out.

"Wouldn't you?" Rowen's voice sounded hollow. "Wouldn't you have left without me?"

Julian knew he had to phrase the answer carefully. "Yes. I would have, but I would keep trying until I died."

"You would do that for a foreign Changechild who trapped himself in his own mind? You would keep going back to the fake Plains, and tear yourself away from sight and color every time, and come back to a black world full of pain, only to keep torturing yourself with that fake world, and a person who never believed you?"

"Yes," Julian said without even needing to think about it. "I would keep going back. I would torture myself every day with sight and then return to pain, and suffer that fate over and over to bring you back." His voice had descended into a whisper, and he knew that he was perilously close to revealing his secret, and then the worse secret of the lifebond.

Seconds before the dam burst, Masaan swept into the room. "That's quite enough, Julian. You need more tea and then more sleep."

Suddenly all of the forgotten pain surged back into Julian's head, and he let out a small whimper.

"Told you," the Healer said with a reproving tone in his voice. "When you overuse your Gift, you _have to give it time to Heal!_ I know you opened your shields a few minutes ago, scarce hours after nearly overusing your Gift to the point of death! I know you want to talk with Rowen, but you're just going to prolong the healing process if you keep that up."

"But, Masaan-"

"_No_ buts! Drink this," and Julian felt a cup being forced into his hands. "And then sleep. We can talk tomorrow. The assassin hasn't struck yet, and we're assuming that he won't until Tremane lets his guard down. Which," he added smugly, "isn't going to happen. The King is not a fool, and we have men on guard switching every hour and taking every precaution possible. So you can sleep. I would suggest the same for your friend, although I don't think he's very inclined to that possibility at the moment, having been asleep for a while now."

"I can sleep." Rowen's voice sounded stubborn as usual, and Julian smiled into his tea, even though he was still troubled by Rowen's new nitpick-Julian's-decisions attitude.

He drained the cup and placed it on the side of the pallet, and soon felt its slight weight vanish as Masaan removed it.

"And no more talking from either of you," the Healer said. "Sendan will be right inside the door to ensure that. Right, Sen?"

He received an affirmative from the formerly unnoticed page, and then left, with a hint of amusement lining his parting words. "Be good."

"Sleep," Sendan said.

"If you'd turn the light off, I'd be more than happy to do so," Rowen said sarcastically.

Julian blinked at the sudden weight on his chest. That simple sentence had made it perfectly clear that he was yet again blind. He sighed and turned over to the wall before either of the room's other occupants could see the sudden glisten of tears in his eyes.

* * *

Rowen lay semi-awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He was ignoring the whispered conversation from the other side of the room, trying simply to clear his mind and ignore the empty pain from his chest so he could sleep without nightmares of Castogol.

"But he doesn't know! What's the point in telling him, then?" he heard Julian's voice hiss.

"Either you tell him before you lose the chance, and you _know_, or you can not tell him and then go on with the rest of your life wondering."

That was Sendan. What on earth could they be talking about?

"No!"

"Tell him!"

"_No_!"

"Julian…"

'_Tell who what?_' Rowen wondered. He deliberately made a noise, hoping that would startle some new information out of them. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect.

"Rowen's awake!" Julian said in a panicked whisper. "He heard it all!"

"Relax," Sendan said. "He was just shifting in his sleep."

"Rowen doesn't shift in his sleep! He stays in one damn position all night! On the offchance that he actually is asleep, I'm going to go to sleep and hope that he didn't hear this."

"But-"

An obviously fake snore interrupted the protest, and Sendan sighed gustily, and Rowen heard him get up and resume his position in the chair by the door.

Julian continued with his fake snores, but they were getting softer and longer, and Rowen could tell that he was losing the battle with sleep.

Once he was reasonably sure that Julian actually was asleep, even though the snores continued, he decided to speak. "Oi, Sendan." The snores stopped abruptly.

"Eh?"

"Who were you talking about just now?"

"Uh… no one you know," Sendan said quickly. "Go to sleep."

A small groan came from Julian's side of the room. "Who, Sendan?" Rowen repeated.

Sendan ignored him, and Rowen decided to leave the matter alone, even though he was reasonably sure that Julian and Sendan had been talking about something he wasn't supposed to hear about.

After what seemed like hours, Rowen finally surrendered to the same enemy that Julian had been fighting.

Had Julian been telling the truth about why he'd done all of those things for Rowen? The answers seemed too simple to Rowen, and the question followed him into the nether realms of sleep.

'_Why did he really save me?_'

* * *

Once again, thanks to all of the reviewers. Now you, too, can join the ranks of people sending words of joy or notes of criticism! Just press the small purple button at the bottom of the screen! 


	20. Stranger Fiends

Okeh Dokeh... It's been over a month since I've posted... I'm sorry about that... I'd been rather busy with midterms and winter vacation and such... I hope you all understand. Now, a friend of mine mentioned how I've been just really meandering around and I really haven't done much with the plotline, so I'm going to remedy that. Just understand- this _is_ a romance, so I've still got to stay true to that ... I'm still basically an Author Trainee.

* * *

Replies to Reviewers: 

Meowwl: I would, but CoC is really long and it continues where Misty left off (if you discount the Owls Trilogy, but that didn't really continue the story, just told another...) but then again, 'Errold's Journey' by Catherine S. McMullen did mess with canon by making Errold and the original settlers of Errold's Grove part of Urtho's Army... which goes against canon since the settlers would have accepted all of the weird things that occurred in the Owls Trilogy with ease... and I vaguely recall Errold's Grove as being mentioned as a young town in the first Owls book (but then again I could be wrong,) so that's that. Plus all of the other stories in the anothologies were sort of glimpses at people's lives...

Lil-sis4556: The comment last chapter that I made was unwarranted. ((bonks self in head))Thank you for the review.

Thanks to: Shadowfax, Fireblade K'Chona, Moondance, vreader, wizard116, and Amber Stag.

And Mischakitsune. Can't forget her. She's my homie.

* * *

Every eye sees its own special vision;  
every ear hears a most different song.  
In each man's troubled heart, an incision  
would reveal a unique, shameful wrong. 

Stranger fiends hide here in human guise  
than reside in the valleys of Hell.  
But goodness, kindness and love arise  
in the heart of the poor beast, as well.

_- The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 20: Stranger Fiends**

"You are aware of the threat of the nation of Valdemar." The query was posed as a statement, _not_ a question. The Emperor prided himself on never asking questions unless he had to.

"Yes, my Emperor," the middle-aged, flaxen-haired man kneeling in front of the throne said smoothly, staring at the square of early-morning sunlight under his nose.

"One of the men that returned brought some of the blood from the creature that Valdemar set to run us out of the towns. One of my Farseers cast a Seeing spell on it, and do you know what he found?" the Emperor asked, regarding the man as if he were some form of bug. The pack leader on the front of the Wolf Crown gazed at the man, yellow eyes unblinking.

"No, my Emperor."

"The creature is at the castle of the King of Hardorn, is in the company of a barely-shielded Empath with power barely kept as potential, and the assassin we have placed there has an unactivated _dyrstaf_. You have the power to open or expand existing Channels and activate potential. I want you to open the Empath's Gift to the widest it can go, and I also want you to open the creature's Flamecharming potential as far as it can go, as well as any other Gifts likely to cause chaos."

The man's eyes widened. Undoubtedly he knew the task was near-impossible. The best any mage with the Opening Gift could hope for was to open one Gift at a time and not die from the resulting reaction-headache, yet the Emperor was asking for at least _three_ Gifts. And unfortunately for the man in question, he was the only mage capable of such a feat at the moment; all of the other mages with the Gift were either in the midst of training successors by opening Gifts at very small intervals, or their Gifts had been made null by the mage-storms.

There was also the fact that he was one of the most powerful Openers in the Empire, and had the best chance of completing the mission.

"I also want you to tell our operative to let fly the birds and to plant the branch of terror. Can I trust you with this, Erius?" the Emperor asked the now-nervous man.

"Yes, my Emperor."

"Good. You may go." The Emperor nodded, dismissing the man.

Erius rose and backed out of the room, eyes lowered. As he neared the doors and the Guards opened them, the Emperor could see that his hands were shaking and his forehead was shiny with sweat. Emperor Melles watched the doors shut behind him and let out a nasty chuckle. With this move he could _finally _be rid of that fool Tremane and throw Hardorn back into chaos as well as destroy the creature that had made his border attacks so difficult.

This was rather fun. No wonder Charliss had always looked so pleased after he'd made some move or another involving taking over another country.

Melles decided that after he'd taken Hardorn, he might make a move towards Valdemar, and from there- who knew? Perhaps the Shin'a'in or even Karse. Iftel was too chancy; he'd wait until he had them surrounded before attacking, but that shouldn't be too hard. After all- if he killed the leaders, it should be easy. Tremane, then the Queen of Valdemar, then perhaps the Son of the Sun in Karse or whoever ruled in Iftel. Oh, this _would_ be fun! Melles exulted as he signaled for the Guards to let the courtiers into the room and watched as the strikingly beautiful Krindala sashayed in with her father. She wasn't the brightest of creatures, and would probably be eager to dance to any tune he played. He would have to make some inquiries into making her his mistress or even his Empress. His thoughts followed her and he shelved the plans to conquer Hardorn and the others; they could wait until the _dyrstaf_ was placed and Tremane's court was in chaos. For now he would wait, and watch the female courtiers for a likely candidate for Empress.

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X**

Erius sat gingerly on the bed and shielded himself with the strongest barriers he had. He arranged himself into a lotus position, placed the arrow that had been retrieved from Castogol on his knees, and forced his body to relax, cleared his mind of all distractions and sent himself into a deep trance. As much as he hated leaving himself open to both magical and mundane attacks like this, it was the only way he could Project, and he was reasonably sure that Melles had some form of a guard outside of his room; after all, he was on a mission that was an official order.

He cast that final thought from his mind and focused all of his being on the bloodstained arrow in his lap, following the peculiar _pull_ that the spell cast earlier was causing. It was a small spell; meant usually to find the second of a pair of earrings or something lost. If you had a piece of someone, such as hair or a nail, or if you were lucky- their blood, it would emanate a special _pull_ that a mage with the Gift of Farseeing or Projecting could follow to the actual person. In an instant a shadowed form of himself was floating above the castle that served as the new Capital of Hardorn. It was still twilight here; even though it was full dark in Jacona, the throne city, the sun was still hovering in the West here.

A thought allowed his soul to 'fall' through the roof and into the central chamber. Another thought allowed him to go to the room that the assassin was in and pass along the 'let fly the birds and plant the branch' message that Melles had obviously deemed important to this mission, and tell the man that he had to do the second in an hour, then take whatever time he needed for the former. As the assassin scrambled to get ready, he released the thought that made him visible to normal eyes and left the room.

He traversed the hallways with ease, letting the _pull_ draw him to the chamber where the creature lay. He would take care of the thing first and then find the Empath and deal with him. He drifted through a final door and blinked when he found himself inside a dimly lit white-tiled chamber. There were two cots pushed together in one corner, but it was what was lying on them that surprised him. Seemingly a melding between a human male and a horse, it had gleaming black fur on the horse section, and the human half was bronze-skinned, muscled and had midnight black hair to match the fur. It vaguely matched the description he'd been given, even though it was missing the fangs, scorpion tail, demon wings, and didn't look like it was fifty feet tall. It was currently sleeping, oblivious to the second shadowed form that was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall near the door. _That_ proved to be a young blonde man dressed all in scarlet and argent. He had his eyes closed, and at a closer look, Erius discovered shields around the young man, and upon probing them- oh, how _convenient_! The creature _and _the Empath were in the same room, which made _his_ job much easier. Now the only problem was which one to Gift first...

After hovering between the two, Erius picked the Empath. He would need all of his concentration to get through the shields without rousing the man, and the creature should be easier anyway.

He shaped his soul into a bright red stiletto-point and set to work, insinuating himself through the shields and into the man's mind. He searched through the channels until he found the one that glowed a happy green and was wider than the others. This was the Empathy channel, and he forced an extension of his _self_ into two narrowly crossing points, inserted them into the channel, and _pulled_ them apart. Analogies were the easiest way to do these things, and required the least amount of concentration. This way was like a scissor- inserting it closed and then opening it _inside_ the channel. The channel edges resisted for a second or two, then the ends of the channel lengthened, and then the edges widened, and the channel was opening. Slowly at first, it opened faster and slid apart slickly as he poured more energy into the 'scissor.' The man awoke in a rush and Erius was _thrown_ out of his mind as _pain _rushed in and spilled over, flooding the room and waking the creature and likely everyone else in the castle. Before the reaction-headache could set in, he sought refuge in the creature's mind, sifting through thoughts and worries for the scarlet-and-argent man to the very core. It was dark now, and he searched frantically through the channels to find the potential Flamecharming channel threading under the grey-brown blanket that kept the potential from becoming reality. After what seemed like hours he found it, crimson and ruby moving in a tiny stream under the barrier.

Ruthlessly he grabbed it and dragged it to the surface, and grabbed the yellow of the Hearing Speech and a snippet of the Projecting Speech and brought them, too. He _pulled_ open the Flamecharming as far as it would go, (which was only about half of the Empathy of the man) then started on the Projecting Speech. When he realized that he could open the other two at a minimum, he divided his attention between the two and _pulled_. The sudden pain resonating between the two tossed him into the room which was rapidly filling with more pain than he could stand. The creature was emanating pain and the Empath was receiving it and projecting it _and_ his own magnified, and the sheer quantity of it threw him off balance, and his own physical tie to his own body was rapidly disintegrating. It pulled him back like a slingshot, and as he hurtled back towards his body he knew that he wouldn't survive the impact. He cursed his loyalty to his country, cursed the gods that gave him the power that led to his death, and as he impacted with his body and felt his mind shatter, cursed Melles with his dying breath.

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X**

Masaan watched as the frightening scene before him unfolded. Julian was in Rowen's room, thrashing and screaming on the floor, and pain emanated from him like something from a battlefield. Rowen was standing, locked in place, trembling, and his eyes were flashing, and Masaan noticed with a sudden shock that a few papers that had been left lying on the desk were smoldering, and the bedding was smoking. He caught a few stray Mindspeech projections of, _:Pain__! Goddess, it hurts, it _hurts!Before he realized that most of the pain was emanating from Julian, and that the Bard was unshielded. Hurriedly he threw the most powerful shields he had over the thrashing Bard, and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him out of the room and into the hallway. Another Healer came rushing up with a Herald at her side, and he noticed vaguely that it was the Envoy, Shensa, before Masaan gabbled something about fire in the room and practically pushed them into the room with a hastily freed hand. He dragged Julian into another room, bodily lifted him up onto the examining table, and threw more shields over him. The first was almost gone, and Masaan had just enough time to wonder what had done it before another wave of pain washed over him and his thoughts narrowed to merely shielding the Bard. He poured all the energy he knew he had, and some he didn't, and he was at the end of his reserves when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned weary eyes to see Renain, a senior Healer lay his hands on Julian's still form, and the old man wheezed at him.

"You get to bed, lad," the man said genially. "Get under the tightest shields you have, though. And try to ignore the screaming. A fear-spell's been triggered somewhere in the castle, and it's driving everyone that's _not_ under shield mad. It's going to get worse before it gets better, so get all the sleep you can get _now_."

'_Fear-spell?_'

He let his shields weaken the tiniest bit, and immediately felt a thin thread of non-directional anxiety wash over him. It was accompanied by fear obviously radiated by living things, for it had that peculiar flavor of fear of the unknown, and it was coming from _everything_, even the cats in the hallways, and the pigeons that had nested in the thatched roofs of the stable were conspicuously absent. .

He closed his shields, nodded at Renain, cast a last worried look at Julian, wandered out into the hall, and crossed into Rowen's room. The smoke was gone, thankfully, and the Changechild was calmer now. Herald Shensa was with him, and both were staring at something on the ground. Masaan watched in fascination as a single ball of lint sitting among its brethren on a porcelain plate burst into flame. Was Shensa doing it?

She looked up for a moment and glanced at him with weary eyes, and another ball of lint erupted. Masaan was puzzled for a second, then it hit him. _Rowen_ was doing it! But how? He wasn't a Flamecharmer by any means, so- a possibility shined a dim light into his mind.

_The old man was walking in front of the line of boys, who fidgeted and watched him boredly as he muttered things and made comments to the scribe that trailed him. _

_"This one is a Hearing Speaker," he said of a short, black-haired boy. The scribe made a note on the sheaf of paper he held, and marked the same for the next, a taller blonde with grey eyes. The man came to the third boy in line, who was a long-haired brunette, but completely nondescript, with ordinary features and brown eyes. "Ah, an Opener," the man said with interest. "You will be of great use to the Empire," he said as the boy stared up at him with curiosity in his eyes. The next two children were proclaimed to be a Flamecharmer and a Projective Speaker, and a FarSeer, respectively, and the sixth, a young Masaan, was caught and held in the man's cruel gaze. "A Hearing and Projecting Speaker _and_ a Healer!" he exclaimed. The other boys stared at Masaan with envy, and he squirmed under the stares. The man looked intently at Masaan and laid his hand on top of the boy's head. "Also a minor Empath," he commented to the scribe. Masaan stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes and wondered what those words meant. _

_He knew that Flamecharming let you create fire with a thought, and Speaking let you talk to other people in your mind, and Healing was obvious, but what were FarSeeing, Empathy, and Opening?_

It hadn't been until _much _later that Masaan had learned what they were. FarSeeing let you see things far away, Empathy let you feel emotions, and Opening... Opening was the rarest Gift of them all. It let you enter another person's mind and Open a Gift that they had potential for, or expand a Gift that they already had. That was one of the reasons why the Empire had so many powerful mages, and one of the reasons they had so few Openers. Using the Gift would kill most people unless you were powerful enough or had someone to shunt off the reaction to, and Masaan was willing to bet everything he owned that that was what had happened here. None of the mages here had Opening, and no country outside the Eastern Empire had that Gift, save a few mage-schools that one of the Heralds had mentioned, and Masaan didn't think that any of _them_ would do anything in Hardorn of all places. Besides, their use was supposedly strictly regulated, so how had Opening happened to Rowen? He was also willing to bet everything he owned that the exact same thing had happened to Julian. Could the Empire? No. They couldn't have. They _wouldn't_ have; these two weren't that important for Baron Melles to have ordered an Opener to do anything to them. Even though- an untrained Empath was often more dangerous than a trained one, for the rawness of their power often caused them to lash out at anything and everything around them, and since they had no control, they didn't know their limits, so they would overextend themselves and broadcast their pain with a frequency no normal Empath would do. And if the Empath was a powerful one... hopefully the fact that Julian had had some training in it, already knew how to use his Gift, and had been taking previously unheard of risks into Rowen's mind would be able to help him get through this. If the Empire _had_ had something to do with it, the only thing they could do here was try to train the two before their Gifts got the best of them in a real sense.

But first, if the small group of people immune to the fear-spell were going to ever do anything or help them, they had to find the origin of the thing. And that would be hard enough.

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X**

The first part of the plan was _not_ complete, the assassin thought, as a frown made its way onto his face. The Healers and mages had overcome the original plan to throw the castle into chaos, but it could still be salvaged if he could manage to kill either the Valdemaran Bard or the Changechild, then Tremane himself. It shouldn't be too hard; the Bard and the Changechild were both incapacitated from the rawness of their Gifts, and Tremane was only a Master, unable to command the magic he once had before the Storms. It would be difficult, but it would border on the original plan, and it would require all of his cunning to escape from this alive, for Tremane would die in front of his entire Court, killed by a dagger thrown from the midst of the Valdemaran courtiers. The assassin himself would then escape in the confusion, riding ostensibly as a courier, and escape to the Eastern Border, leaving the Hardornen Court without any subject to blame except for some poor fool that would somehow manage to get himself charged as the killer of both Tremane _and _the Bard or Changechild.

His frown deepened. _Now_ was the time to act, and he fully intended to take advantage of the fact that the Healers and mages hadn't managed to shield everyone in the castle; merely those involved in the search for the _dyrstaf_, though he doubted they knew what it was. They had only managed to shield a few large rooms on the first floor, and all of the unshielded people were gathered there. He decided to change the plan. If he killed Tremane and _then _broke those shields, a full-scale panic would break out, and he could escape in the resulting chaos. Yes, that should work nicely.

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X**(I think I'm having a little too much fun with these little scene-break things.)

Julian tried to sort through all of the emotions flooding his senses. They hurt, they _hurt_, and no one seemed to be able to shield him properly. He had absolutely _no_ idea of what was going on outside his room, but he knew that it was something terrible. _Fear_ kept filtering through the shields, and he was ready to go mad from not knowing _why_.

A tentative knock sounded on the door, and Sendan's voice called out tentatively, "Julian, are you awake?"

He sighed and rolled over. "Yes, Sendan."

"Okay. You- uh, you have a visitor."

Oh? "Who?" he asked curiously.

"Rowen." Julian's heart gave a sudden leap at his friend's voice at the door, and he tried not to look too excited.

"Oh! C-come in," he said nervously, sitting up and pushing the cover away. The door opened, then closed, and he heard hooves clop-clopping on the tile floor, moving towards him and then stopping next to the bed. He could hear a creak as Sendan took a chair on the other side of the room.

"How are you holding up?" Rowen's voice sounded raspy, and he didn't feel like he'd been getting too much sleep.

"Not so good," Julian replied truthfully. "I keep feeling _fear_ coming from everywhere except for the Healers, and my head always hurts." He paused. "Masaan told me that you now have the Gift of Firestarting. He says you got it on the same night my Empathy expanded, but they still don't know how. How long has it been? I can't tell time down here, and no one will tell me anything."

"It's only been two days. I've had some training in using the Gift, or enough to keep it under control, anyway, had minimal lessons in Shielding my thoughts, but sometimes the fear leaks through-"

"Wait, _what?_" Julian interrupted him. "No one said anything about you needing a shield! What else happened to you?"

Rowen sounded surprised. "Whatever gave me the Gift of Firestarting also opened Mindspeech of both types just a little bit. It's not much, but if I don't mind getting a bit of a reaction-headache, I can Mindspeak someone else if they're also Gifted enough." Julian could tell that Rowen was eyeing him. "You would be easy enough, I think."

He felt Rowen lower his shields, but before anything happened, Rowen slammed them shut again, gasping. "The fear- Goddess, the _fear_ just overwhelmed me. I didn't realize that I was in a shielded room when Shensa was tutoring me in the shielding process. Lady, that _hurt_!"

Julian decided to lower his own shields to see exactly what Rowen was talking about, and braced himself for the coming revelation.

Fear hit him like a brick between his eyes, but in the midst of that fear- there was something else. A _null _area, _very_ unlike the clean shields of the Healers or the smooth shields of the mages. This shield was- odd; like water, it was very flexible, but 'tasted' sort of like vinegar. It was also a very tightly woven shield, and Julian realized that it was heading towards them, through a back corridor that no one should be using because of the unsure masonry in that area; the floor was slightly warped and had a tendency to cause falls. Who could that be? He suddenly had a vague feeling of impending doom, and the room felt very cold. "Sendan, I want you to do me a favor," he said. His voice shook slightly, and he hoped that the others would pick up his urgency.

"Eh?"

"Get into the privy, and don't come out until I tell you to." The shield was at the end of their hall now, and it had slowed considerably.

"What- why?" Rowen asked.

"Just do it!" the Bard snapped. "Don't come out for _anything_ until you hear either me or Rowen tell you it's okay."

"But _wh__-_" Julian lost all patience with the boy, launched himself off the bed, and _dragged_ Sendan to the door of the privy. "In, now."

"But-" The boy's protest was muffled as Julian opened the door, unceremoniously shoved Sendan through it, and slammed it behind him. "Stay," he said.

"Julian, what in the nine hells has gotten into you?" Rowen asked bewilderedly.

"No time. Do you have any weapons?"

"Uh, no." The unknown shield had stopped outside the door, and Julian sensed that it was _listening_.

"Rowen," he hissed. "There's someone on the other side of the door that's going to try and-" Then there was no more time to speak, for the door burst inward with a clatter of metal and the crack of wood breaking under unimaginable weight, and Julian knew without a doubt that this unknown person was the assassin that had killed both Lord Rhandon and Chancellor Hythrel. He just wished he could see him.

"Duke Ormus!" Rowen exclaimed. "What brings you here?" He seemed to be ignoring the fact that the door had just been blown in by a force greater than any axe.

Now Julian had a name for the assassin. Duke Ormus was an older gentleman relatively new to the Court. Having spent much of his life in the country due to Ancar's atrocities, he'd decided to come to Court to verify that Tremane was a good ruler, and upon finding the interesting things, decided to stay. Now Julian knew that it was all a ruse. Duke Ormus had to be the assassin, quite possibly one of the men captured in raids along the Border and brainwashed to serve as an infiltrator in the Hardornen Court. Whatever the case, he was here for what was quite possibly a nefarious reason, and Julian had no intentions of letting his plan succeed.

"I came to pay a personal visit to young Julian, here," came the slick reply. "Have I interrupted something?"

"Oh, no," Rowen said, although there was something in his voice that sounded like- '_He got the message!_' Julian exulted. '_He knows!_' Now if only they could catch the man in the act.

"Ah, might I have a moment or two alone with Julian? I would like to give my personal reassurances that I think everything will turn out right, in the end." He paused, and when he spoke again, oily persuasion practically oozed from every pore in his body. "May I?"

Exultation turned to terror, and Julian felt his shields weaken. '_No, no, no, don't leave me alone with him, please don't, Rowen, don't leave me here!_'

"Of course," Rowen said, and Julian's heart sank. "I'll just be right outside the door."

"I'll make this quick, then," Ormus said, and Julian could just about hear him jumping for joy.

Rowen left the room, and Julian could hear Ormus mutter, "Idiot boy," and Julian felt the fear-blocking shield vanish, and a new one spring up in its place.

"Well, my boy," the old man said. "It looks like it's just you and me now. Let's get on with it, shall we?" Julian heard the snick of a dagger being drawn from a sheath, and his terror increased.

"Rowen!" he screamed. "Rowen, _now_!"

"Oh, come now. You didn't think I'd be _that_ stupid, did you? That shield blocks all sound from escaping the room."

"But you-" Julian said weakly. He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Aren't a mage?" Ormus said. "Well, yes, I _am_ a mage. I'm just a very well-shielded mage. And you're a very stupid boy. And now you're going to die."

Julian felt movement off to his right, and suddenly Ormus' voice was in his ear. "We'll take this slowly, all right?"

Paralysis claimed his body and Julian couldn't move a muscle. The terror solidified in his gut as cold steel drew an invisible line down his cheek.

"Let's leave a nice message for your friend, shall we?" Ormus purred. "We could start with maybe a nice design _here_," and the dagger sliced into his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, pain and terror.

"Oh, your skin cuts so well," Ormus approved. "Another line _here_ should help," and another cut appeared crossing the second one at an angle. His throat muscles were paralyzed, so Julian couldn't scream, but a thin whimper managed to escape his throat.

"Do stop whining," the assassin said. A third streak of pain criss-crossed the other two, forming a triangle. More lines of pain continued to appear until the entire left side of his face felt like it was on fire.

"Now, let's begin on your right side," Ormus said. The steel barely touched Julian's right cheekbone when a purely mental shout deafened both of them and startled Ormus, causing the blade to cut into Julian's cheek and draw a skewed line down to his chin, and the dagger dropped to the floor.

_:JULIAN_

Rowen crashed into the room, and Julian heard Ormus picking himself up off the floor. '_He's not going anywhere,_' he thought angrily, and a plan solidified in his mind.

With a painful twist of his greatly-increased Empathy, Julian sent a wave of _fear-pain-terror_ into the mind of his assaulter. The assassin fell to the ground, face twisted into a rictus of horror. The reaction-headache hit Julian almost instantly, and his shields collapsed, exposing him fully to the fear-spell flooding the castle with terror. The spell holding him vanished, and he fell to the ground, twitching.

Ormus rose again, and the feeling of impending doom was stronger now. '_Rowen..._'

A sudden _whumph_ sounded, and he felt intense heat blossom inches away from his left foot. The smell of burning meat filled the room, and he knew in a sickening instant what Rowen had done. The assassin was dead, his body consumed by the flames of Rowen's anger.

He heard a snort, and then Rowen's voice saying, "What- how did _that_ happen? It didn't feel- like I was in control- _Julian!_" The Changechild knelt next to him, smelling of fear and something Julian couldn't identify.

"Julian, are you- _Goddess_!" Rowen hissed as he tilted the left side of Julian's face into the light.

The Bard himself couldn't feel anything but pain and fear, and his mind was rapidly going into overload.

A warm weight was suddenly pressed to the side of his face, overriding the pain for just a moment, and Julian could feel the warmth of a palm and fiver fingers applying steady pressure to the cuts. A second hand smoothed the hair back from his bloody forehead.

"Julian, please stay awake. I need you to stay awake- I think you may be going into shock. It's no wonder with what you just went through, but you need to stay awake!" Rowen was babbling, and he probably knew it, but the babbling was keeping Julian awake for the moment. So was the stink of burning meat, but that was abruptly lessened, seemingly by a blanket thrown over the remains. The fear was keeping him alert, too, but it was mostly the sound of Rowen's voice that kept him alive. It seemed like years had passed before the constant jabber and press of _fear_ ended their assault on Julian's senses, and suddenly a wash of other feelings poured over him, and he was so exhausted by the fear and emotions of others that his limited world went grey, then black, then went away altogether.

* * *

Notes: 

For those of you that were wondering: Opening is a self-named Gift that allows the user to open a Gift in another person as long as they have the potential for it, and they can also expand an existing Gift. Projecting is basically Astral Projecting; the power to have your soul leave your body in an 'astral' form. Any other questions- ask in a review.

Speech is Mindspeech, and Flamecharming is Firestarting. They call them different things in the Empire, so that's that.

A _dyrstaf,_ as quoted in Black Gryphon, page 330-331, '"It's a rather nasty little thing. It's an object, usually a rod of a staff of some kind, that holds a _very_ insidious version of a fear-spell. It looks perfectly ordinary until it's been triggered, and even then it doesn't show to anything but Magesight. It starts out just creating low-level anxiety, and works up to a full panic over the course of a day and a night. ... The _mages_ always slept under all kinds of personal shielding, so of course they weren't affected. Anyone with Healer training would also sleep under shields."'

* * *

Hiro: Fwah. That's Chapter 20. Now tell me what you all thought, and will someone _please_ tell me what they'd think of a MasaanSendan pairing? 


	21. Pushed to the Brink, Long Nights

Okay... I know this chapter is almost a month and a half late, give or take, and I really have no excuse other than the fact that a lot of my time has been taken up with volunteering at the Faire, a dying (cancer) friend and the resulting funeral, school, and some depression that was completely unrelated to the friend. But now I think I'm back with a new chapter, a more defined idea of a plot, and some new ideas and motivation for a novel brewing, so watch out! Hiron Otsuki is back in action!

Shadowfax: I loved your review. Game of telephone, indeed... Yes, it's very frightening. Good thing that it's really hard to do... Never read X-Men, but the comment interested me. Who is Sage? Ooh, and you know stuff about Shakespeare and the subplots. (Not many people catch the fact that there are subplots, and not many people are willing to admit that they even read Shakespeare... I admire you.) Lol. Thanks, again.

AikoNamika: Oops... There is always more than one way to say something in any language, though...

Moondance: Erius did it with his Gift in Rowen's mind. (Am I the only one seeing the resemblance to Clue, here?)

Fireblade: ...Yes.

Thanks also to: Wizard116, DreamToCreate, Amber Stag, and AikoNamika. And Mischakitsune.

Notes: Touch-Sensing _is_ a legitimate, canon Gift. It was mentioned in Exile's Valor as the Gift of one of the Hurlee players; the Trainee in question was using it to try to identify what the writer of a note was thinking in regards to plotting something against Selenay.

* * *

To see what we have never seen, 

to be what we have never been,

to shed the chrysalis and fly,

depart the earth, kiss the sky,

to be reborn, be someone new:

Is this a dream or is it true?

Can our future be cleanly shorn

from a life to which we're born?

Is each of us a creature free—

or trapped at birth by destiny?

Pity those who believe the latter.

Without freedom, nothing matters.

_The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 21: Pushed to the Brink; Long Nights. **

A wreck. Julian was a complete wreck. The Healers had stopped the bleeding quickly enough, and shielded both of them again, but the left side of Julian's face was covered in a design of thin, angry red lines. The right had only the tear-track scar that stretched from the corner of his eye to his jawline, but every time Rowen saw even that scar, he wanted to reverse time and pound the still-smoldering body of Ormus-the-bastard into a greasy smear on the floor again.

'Why_ did I leave the room? _Why?'

Masaan had explained the illusion-spell repeatedly, but Rowen still couldn't force himself to believe that he couldn't have overcome it, somehow. Goddess... this was all his fault. If he hadn't... left...

The second he'd yelled for help from someone- _anyone_, Sendan had burst out of the closet and run for Healers- and met an army of mixed Guards and Healers in the hall, since the massive wave of emotion that Julian had thrown at Ormus had sent waking nightmares into the mind of all Sensitives in the castle. Rowen had found himself shouldered aside by Masaan, who had laid both hands on Julian's face and was pouring every iota of energy into Healing and Shielding.

Someone had taken Rowen out of the way after the third or fourth time that he'd tried to break into the circle of Healers trying to place a shield over Julian that he couldn't immediately get through, and had then decided to explain the now disabled fear-problem.

One of the gryphons from Iftel had remembered her history lessons and decided to start searching for less-than-ominous objects in the castle, and found the source of the fear-spell after only two hours of searching- a _dyrstaf_, and destroyed it, so the waves of fear and nervous pain had stopped battering Julian's already ragged shields to bits, although it had been too late to stop Ormus. Now they were in a new room, far away from the room with the new grease-mark decoration on the floor and the permanent aroma of burned meat.

The Bard was still a wreck. Rowen stared at the apparently sleeping Julian on the bed, and his rage at Ormus doubled when the scarred side of the Bard's face came into the light when Julian restlessly turned his head.

Rowen clenched his fists and all of the oil lamps on the wall flared brightly before settling into the dim glow of before. He growled lowly, and tried to control the anger. Keeping a new Gift under control was _not_ his forte; the Gifts of adults were usually chancy at best, and since Firestarting was usually unpredictable and reacted to the emotions of the Gifted, it was not a good combination, in Rowen's case. The lights flared again, flooding the room with light, but not before Julian groaned at the excess of anger in the room.

A pale hand ventured out from under the covers to touch the badly scarred cheek, and he whimpered. Rowen's stomach lurched unexpectedly, and he tried to ignore it.

"Hello?" Julian whispered hoarsely. "Is someone there?"

"I am," Rowen answered gently. "Do you want any water, or something to eat? The cooks are just waiting with some broth to reward the Bard that took down the assassin."

"Some water would be nice," rasped the Bard.

Rowen fumbled with the water jug and cup for a moment, unexplainably nervous, then succeeded in pouring a drink. He hand the cup to Julian, who drank slowly, teeth chattering slightly against the rim. His hand reached up to probe the side of his face again, and Rowen could see the muscles in his jaw clench slightly.

"How bad is it?" Julian asked quietly.

"Pardon?" Rowen asked, surprised. '_Surely I misheard him._'

"I said, 'how bad is it?' How ugly am I now?" Julian repeated.

Rowen appraised Julian's face for a second and decided to be delicately blunt. "The left side of your face is a network of fine lines. The right only has a tear-track scar." He paused for a moment, contemplating whether he should finish the thought. "And you're _not_ ugly. Yes, you're scarred, but not badly enough to set small children to screaming." He smiled ruefully, even though Julian couldn't see it. "Or you could just cover it with a half-mask, like that old Hardornen legend of the Phantom of the Theatre, although I can't see why you'd want to. Even as much of a sadistic pile of _sheka_ that Ormus was, he still managed to make the pattern attractive. The side of your face looks like something out of a book of alchemy."

"I wouldn't know," Julian said gloomily.

Rowen sighed. "Believe me, Julian. _You're not ugly_." Hesitantly, he reached out a finger and traced the tear-scar on the far side of Julian's face. "You're not," he repeated firmly.

His stomach trembled when Julian lifted a slightly shaking hand and pressed it over his own.

"Thank you," the Bard whispered.

Rowen's finger stroked the beginning of the line at the corner of Julian's eye, then traveled sideways slightly to run over the older scar that had left Julian blind. The Bard sighed and relaxed slightly. "That feels good," he murmured drowsily. A few moments later, he looked like he was slipping back into a more natural sleep. "It's hard having no family," he mumbled sleepily. "My father hates what I am, and Rojer always followed what he said, despite being a Healer, and I haven't seen either of them in so long, except the time Father was at Court b'fore my accident. If only he weren't so close-minded. Rowen's lucky that he has Sa'heera and Nadar... I wish he would accept me... what we are... Rowen..."

"I'm right here, Julian," Rowen said, trying to find out just what Julian thought he wouldn't accept.

"Rowen?" Julian muttered, and tightened his hand on Rowen's.

The Changechild felt his cheeks flood with heat.

Suddenly, Julian's eyes flew open, and his blind orbs flicked about the room. "_Rowen!_" he cried, and tore his hand from Rowen's, hastily flinging it back under the blanket. "Rowen," he moaned. "I'm sorry- I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, about my family- about- what I- I didn't realize it was you- I thought it was Masaan, or Sendan. The- the emotions are still affecting me, and my Empathy isn't as reliable as it was before this whole mess. Whatever you heard, forget it. I'm delirious, so don't listen to a word I say."

Rowen stared at the babbling Bard, confused. Why was Julian so nervous? What did he have to hide?

"Julian," he said slowly. "You didn't say anything other than the fact that your father hates you, you think your brother does, too, and that there's a reason for it. You said that it was something you were, but you didn't elaborate on it. You mentioned that I wouldn't accept you for whatever it is. Julian, I really don't care what it is. It's not going to bother me."

"You wouldn't understand," Julian said bitterly. "_Believe_ me, it would disturb you. And the rest of it... if you ever could be ready to hear it, you aren't right now."

A little hurt, Rowen replied, "_Look_, Julian, it's obviously bothering you, and you need to talk about it with someone. Why not me?"

"I _have _talked about it, with Masaan and Sendan."

"So you think that you can trust them over me?" Rowen hissed. His frustration was quickly turning into anger, and it was getting the best of him.

The lights flared.

"No! It's just-" Julian started to say something, then stopped. His face, if it was possible, paled more. "Gods, Rowen- you're so _angry_."

"Damn right!" Rowen snapped. "I know you better than anyone here, and when you need to talk with someone, you run to them instead of me?" He knew that his reasoning was weak, and there was really no reason for him to be so angry, but the fact that Julian thought he couldn't trust Rowen _hurt_.

"No, damnit!" Julian hissed, rising to a sitting position with a grimace of pain. "It's something you wouldn't take very well, if you could take it at all!" He flushed. "Damnit, Rowen, why do you always have to be so damn stubborn about some things?"

"Because I know 'some things' involve me!"

"This isn't something you can just talk casually about! A sensitive subject like a li- like _that_ can't just be out in plain sight until both parties have agreed!"

"Well how can both parties agree if one party doesn't know anything about it!" Rowen shouted.

"Because I'm still trying to come to terms with it, myself! This is something that could kill one or the both of us, Rowen, and I personally think that if you found out about it right now, it would definitely kill both of us!"

"Julian," Rowen growled. "Stop dancing around the subject and just tell me! I know you want to!"

"_I can't!_" the Bard cried. "I can't! Stop pushing me to tell you something that's killing me from the inside out! It hurts so much, and you keep _pushing_ me to tell you, and I _can't_!"

Tears ran down his face in streams as he yelled. "I hate this, Rowen! My Empathy is going out of control, _you're_ screaming at me, which is making it worse, I just almost _died_, I'm going to be scarred for the rest of my life, and I'm so _alone_!"

Rowen eyed him. Julian was almost screaming now, but his voice was still barely above that of a loud whisper, and it was growing hoarser.

"The shields are barely working. I can feel every emotion in this whole damned castle except for the precious few mages and Healers! I can feel that the horses in the stable aren't fit to ride, and everything in the castle is still _afraid_! Someone I consider a really good friend is too annoyed with me to see how messed up I am, because I'm trying to protect him, and I don't have anyone that actually sees me for _who I am_ here."

'_What?_'

"Tremane sees me as a spare Envoy, Sendan sees a mentor, the Councilors in both countries see me as a way to control the big, bad Changechild. Selenay sees me a Bard, Masaan sees me as an attraction, and you obviously see me as something to vent at! I'm _tired _of it, Rowen. I'm always alone, but now... now all I want to do is be _left _alone!"

Even though Julian's words stung, and he probably _was_ as stressed as he claimed, the reasons had little truth behind them. Sendan obviously cared for Julian as a close friend, as did Masaan. Selenay understood that Julian was a person, and had always treated him accordingly in _and _out of Council meetings, even though Julian hadn't been needed after Rowen had begun to take the initiative to show up to meetings on his own. But the Councilors and Tremane _did _see him as both Envoy and a way to get to Rowen. And even Rowen himself had been treating Julian as an anger outlet during the past few minutes, and the poor man had just been tortured. Perhaps he _had _been pushing Julian a little too far.

"Julian," he began awkwardly. "I'm- I'm sorry. We've all been under a lot of stress, you especially, and I'm frustrated at not being able to help with the retaking of the towns, and I'm ready to kill _myself_ because I failed you. _I _let _you_ get hurt, let him _torture_ you, and I'm taking it out on you." Shame overtook him. "I failed you, Julian. I let him get to you, and now you bear the scars for my mistake. I'm so sorry."

All of the feelings that he'd been holding in check burst out of the cupboard where he'd stowed them, flooding his heart and mind. Anger at the fact that Julian was hurt; sorrow that he'd not stopped it. Absolute and total rage at the bastard who had dared to torture the now-weeping young man in front of him; shame that he'd been taken in by the illusion that Ormus had woven, and last of all, longing. But longing for what? He'd felt longing before, as a child for toys he could not have, and later as a teenager for the parents he'd lost, as an adult for the body and life that had been lost to him. Most recently was that strange, undefinable longing- that had intensified exponentially during the torture session, and now blazed up like the lights whenever he looked at Julian. Longing, perhaps, for the life that the Bard led with such ease and undeniable grace? No- it couldn't be that. Rowen fit into his own self-defined niche nicely, and he had no intentions of moving. Longing for the skill and elegance with which Julian performed? Rowen didn't think so. Possibly- was it Julian's innocence? His cleanliness- he'd never killed another human being, after all. But somehow, that explanation didn't exactly fit the frame either. And it certainly didn't explain the... tightening... of certain key points in his body that occurred when he so much as glanced at Julian. Oh, for the easy camaderie they had once had- or had they ever had it?

_"Your move," Julian said, alerting Rowen to the fact that it was his move. _

_The Changechild studied the board and smiled, reaching for the gaze-hound and captured a courser with it. "Your courser is done with," he said happily. "My gaze-hound took the one on the far left."_

_His smile faded as Julian took a year-stag and proceeded to capture that hound and then move it on to capture Rowen's pack leader- the only hound left other than three coursers and an attack-hound. _

_"I win," he said with a mischievous grin. _

_Rowen groaned and reached for his wine. "So you have. Now what?" _

_The Bard shrugged. "What do you want to do?" _

_Rowen perked up as an unusual idea appeared in his mind's eyes- but would Julian go for it? _

_There was only one way to find out. "Drinking contest?" he suggested tentatively. It was such a juvenile idea. Surely the refined Bard wouldn't want to-_

_"Drinking contest?" the Bard asked curiously. "I haven't been in one of those since my Trainee days... but why not? Let's go."_

_Rowen had slapped him on the back and put an arm around his shoulders, letting Julian lead them out of the _ekele _and to one of the common rooms in the Bardic Wing of the Collegium. _

_Four hours later, Rowen could barely make it down the lawn to the _ekele_, one passed out Bard slung over his back. Any awake Companion wouldn't be able to tell the actual outcome of the contest, but it was the exact opposite of the way it looked. Not only had Julian drunk Rowen under the table; he'd managed to drink several older and larger Bards under the table as well. Unfortunately, by then he'd been drunk enough to accept a contest between himself, Bard Gretel, and Bard Temas, both of whom were from areas of Valdemar famed for people with great ability to hold liquor. Gretel had passed out before the end of the contest, but Temas was the winner; Julian had toppled off his seat and begun throwing up on the floor only minutes before Temas began to do the same. Rowen had woken up by then, and purged his system of much of the alcohol, and had been watching the competition as well as a drunk who'd slowly been regressing into a heavy buzz could. So Rowen had picked up Julian and staggered out of the room, fully intending to walk back like a civilized Changechild, and not a drunk-off-his-ass idiot Shin'a'in with a projectile-weapon Bard on his back. _

_Two steps from the door, Julian rolled over on Rowen's back and vomited again. All over the Changechild's croup and tail. _

_Then he turned his head and grinned weakly at his half-drunk ride. "Shorry 'bout tha'. Shoulda shtopped when I had th' chansh, but I couldn'. I forgo' how good I wash at theesh..." _

_Rowen felt like pitching the Bard into the river, but settled for placing him in the area of the _ekelemost_ likely to become filled with bright, early morning sunlight. _

_"And you said you hadn't played that game since your Trainee days," he said to the Bard, trying to shake off some of the vomit that was now trickling down his legs. _

_"Lied," Julian groaned as Rowen stepped over an artfully placed log. _

_"I know." Rowen shook him off in the spot he'd decided on, leaving the Bard to sprawl limply in the grass, while he went to scoop a bucket of water out of one of the pools so he could get some of the vomit off. _

_"Heyla, Julian!" _

_"Yes?" the Bard replied, not bothering to look up from the lute he was tuning- not that he needed to look. After much trial-and-error, Rowen had finally managed to figure out how to navigate the slippery staircase- very, very carefully, but it had been worth all the bruises and scrapes to see the smile light up Julian's face at his arrival, and hopefully the smile that would make this one seem like a frown. _

_"Surprise!" The flung case landed on Julian's bed on the second floor of the _ekele

_"What's this?" Julian asked in surprise, then placed the lute carefully back into its case and felt his way over to the bed. Rowen grinned. "Present," and carefully stepped over the seemingly messy floor covered in the lute strings and bridges and tuning pegs that Julian needed- that were actually ordered very neatly, although Rowen failed to see any sort of pattern- to stand next to the other man. _

_"This is- oh!" Julian's face shone with delight as he opened the large case and ran his hands over the instrument within. "A guitar! And this is-" Shock suffused his features as his voice dropped to a reverent whisper and his fingers began to tremble. "This is one of the original guitars made by Rolf Dawson. Where did you find it?" _

_"Oh, around," Rowen said casually. In fact, it had been exceedingly hard to get, and he'd had to submit to telling his story multiple times over to one of the _ancient_ Master Bards so the old man could catalogue it, and had to empty his coin-purse completely. But the look on Julian's face was worth all the trouble. "Happy Birthday." _

_"How did you- no, I don't want to know. But- thank you, Rowen. Thank you so much. I really don't know what to say, except for thank you." Julian was an avid collector of anything that had to do with Rolf Dawson, who was the original creator of the guitar. "These are so rare," Julian said in wonder. "I can't believe you actually managed to find one that wasn't in a collection or a showpiece in some wealthy home." _

_"I'm glad you like it, Julian."_

Julian had liked it so much that he'd taken the time to contact Sa'heera to find out the date of Rowen's twenty-sixth birthday. He had then proceeded to conspire with several friends among the Heralds and resident Shin'a'in to throw Rowen the best party he'd ever had, considering that the Shin'a'in didn't emphasize birthdays, and he'd been unable to do much of anything involving anyone for the last five full years.

Yes, Rowen decided. They had been good friends. But somewhere along the line, it had changed. Some element had become more intimate. The friendship was still a friendship, but it was at a point where it was at the strongest, where two people could stay at that easy almost soul-sibling relationship- or become something more. And it might well be evolving into something warmer. The ease with which Julian had entered Rowen's mind when he'd been in comas, or the way that they'd become such close friends so fast; all 'only-friend-in-all-of-Valdemar' issues aside, Rowen wasn't the kind of person that trusted easily. It had taken Sa'heera three years to breach his formidable defenses, yet Julian had been at the 'I-can-vomit-all-over-you-and-you-won't-destroy-me' stage within months. And Rowen had a vague idea that he'd gotten under Julian's skin just as quickly. Anyone that knew the Bard know that he didn't trust very easy; perhaps because of his uneasy, seldom mentioned relationship with his father and brother. The only people that Julian truly trusted were Heralds and their Companions, lifebonded partners of Heralds, and people that he'd been able to see into with his Empathy and determine their true character, like Masaan and Sendan. And the gryphons, kyree, tyrill, and ratha, who were no more able to conspire against the Alliance than a Companion would be. So why trust a Shin'a'in Changechild that was possibly crazy from no human contact and bring him into the very heart of Valdemar? There was something going on here that everyone seemed to be aware of but him, and it was starting to annoy him. Julian trusted him to not ask questions about it, but all the frustration with everything else had eroded Rowen's thin barrier of patience.

Julian _had_ trusted him. And he'd just ripped the Bard's fragile mental state to shreds over a simple issue of _pride_.

Julian's voice was muffled from the within the circle of arms and legs that he'd worked himself into, but understandable enough.

"Rowen, an excuse is an excuse. That was the truth. But why would you have failed me?"

There was genuine puzzlement in his tone, and Rowen knew he'd have to answer.

"I failed you when I let him torture you. You are, to put it bluntly, my best friend. At least as close as a brother." He missed the small, defeated sag of Julian's frame at those words. "I truly care about you, and when we left Valdemar, I pledged to myself that I wouldn't let anything harm you. I thought you would be safe enough here. Instead, you had to risk your own life to save mine to bring my mind back. Then you risked your life to expose Ormus as a traitor, and now you've been scarred for life because I didn't understand the hints you kept throwing. And just now... just now I've gone against my own oath and began screaming at you."

"But you were frustrated, Rowen. And I just added the last bit of fuel to make it explode. I really should have understood how you were fee-"

Rowen held up a hand. "Stop taking the blame for everything and just let me own up to my own mistakes! _I'm_ the one who messed up, and now _I'm _the one who should pay for it."

"But I-"

"Stop volunteering yourself as the cause of every problem that comes along! No more 'buts,'" he added as Julian opened his mouth to protest. "I am going off to try and siphon off some of this frustration into either a set of pells, or I'm going to go burn it off in practicing with this Gift. I'm sure Tremane has some semi-flammable material taking up space somewhere in this great hulk of a castle."

And with those words, he took himself off to go find something to throw his rage and despair at.

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x**

Melles breathed his magic upon the mirror carefully. The idiot Opener had gotten himself killed while sowing the seeds of chaos among the minds of Tremane's guests, and Melles had no Projectors to spare; he'd only had five to begin with. Now one was dead, and of the other four... One was an adult with the mind of a child; he was the most pliant, but unfortunately he was currently busy projecting into the midst of the Haighlei Empire on the other side of the continent and trying to find out if they would be receptive to allying with the Empire and making an attempt to crush all of these troublesome countries between the two larger ones. Right now the boy was working with a linguist, faithfully relaying everything he saw and heard, and the linguist was attempting to make sense of the gabbling of the boy and the even stranger words of the Haighlei. Two of the other Projectors were completely involved in spying on rebellions within the Empire; the rebellions were serious enough to warrant attention by the Army, but Melles wanted to know everything he could about the men heading the rebels before he made any moves.

The final Projector- ah, she was sweet, and Melles could force her to dance any which way to his will, but _she_ was working on a private project for Melles; spying on those who were secretly working to undermine him in his own Court, and reporting who and where they would be at what time. Most of those pests he left to his assassins, but there were a few he intended to take on himself. The few that were intelligent and ruthless enough to have caused several of the rebellions to truly make the Court restless with him could _not_ be trusted to the assassins; silver tongues coupled with charm and no small amount of coin could and had bought off Emperor-sent killers in the past; they would not while Melles was Emperor.

He breathed on the polished-silver mirror carefully and whispered his enemy's name onto the smooth surface. The mist swirled, smoothed, and swirled again, as if unsure where to go. Melles whispered Tremane's name again, impatiently, and the mist churned swiftly.

The fog cleared rapidly to show Tremane's hated visage, but not the way Melles had dreamed of seeing it. No, Tremane's face was _not_ the pallor-gray of a corpse lying in state, but the ruddy, slightly angry color as he ordered mages to search the spy-assassin's chambers thoroughly for any trace of magic, or for anything suspicious. Melles swore, then threw the mirror against the far wall of the Throne Room, where it clattered to the floor to lie cold and unresponsive.

"That _man_!" he seethed. "How does he manage to slip every trap I've set for him? _How_?" He fumed about the room for a few moments under the cool and impassive stares of his Guards, cursing Tremane of Lynnai, and wondering what in the name of the Hundred Little Gods had happened to his assassin. He could kill the man immediately, of course; the hair and blood that the assassin had unwillingly "donated" would be an easy enough way to get rid of someone who was willing to talk in exchange for his life. But what if the man was dead?

That seemed to be the obvious answer, Melles thought as he paced the room, but what if the man had turned his coat and was now working for Tremane? It seemed unlikely, but no one, not even Melles would have thought Tremane capable of turning the entire army sent to conquer Hardorn into the new army _for _Hardorn, then becoming Hardorn's new _King_.

It would be best to just spend the energy and be sure of the man's death than to risk the possibility that the man had turned songbird and was now spilling everything he knew.

Melles sighed and summoned a page over to fetch the required package from his suite. It was going to be a long night.

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x**

It was going to be a long night, Tremane thought, as he glanced around the suite of rooms that Ormus, lately traitor to Hardorn, had called home. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no _dyrstaf_s, nor any other insidious objects that could incite any sort of chaos within or without the walls of the castle.

The only thing that anyone had found had been something that one of the mages had termed a 'blow tube,' which was a long, hollow tube made of a strange type of wood, discovered with a set of small darts of a nasty variety; they were enspelled with a single set-spell that targeted the victim's family with a slow-acting curse that caused the cells in the brain to multiply out of control very, very rapidly. None of them had been used; something that Tremane and he was sure every Healer was thanking every god fervently for. Now the tube and its accessories were being Fetched to Valdemar as carefully as possible so that one of the Heralds with the Gift of Touch-Sensing could attempt to identify who it would have been used on.

Now all _he_ needed to do was be himself and look around for anything that the multiple waves of mages searching the rooms might have missed. As he passed into Ormus's bedchamber, a glint of silver caught his eyes, and he glanced at the seam where the doorframe met the surrounding wall. Something shiny winked there in the wavering light of the oil lamps suspended on the walls; something metallic, a flash of wicked yellow-white. He reached for it, intending to draw whatever it was into clearer light, but instead his fingers ran right over it, and he felt a stab of pain in his index finger. He staggered back a pace, feeling something sweep through his finger and into his arm like a dark shadow. He cried out- or thought he did- as numbness spread through his fingers and up his arm, following the strange wave that emanated from his finger. It reached his shoulder and his arm dropped to his side. His lips lost their feeling, and he found that he suddenly couldn't blink; could barely _breathe_ as the wave hit his legs and he toppled to the floor. The loud thud he made upon meeting the stone must have alerted the two guards that stood outside the room, for one of them stuck his head in- and gasped when he saw his King lying on the ground, lips barely moving as he tried to convey the message that he had been poisoned somehow!

The second guard ran for a Healer, his cries calling for other men to take his place as the first guard dashed to Tremane's side, urgently trying to read the words that were forming and dying on Tremane's lips.

He put his ear to Tremane's lips, and the King knew that this was probably going to be his last chance, if the darkness encroaching at the edges of his vision was any indication.

"Poison," he whispered hoarsely, lips frothing. "Doorframe."

The last of his strength failed him as the guard's eyes widened, and a purple-black curtain fell between him and the rest of the world.

All feeling ceased, and then- nothing.


	22. The Damp Wind Smelled of Apocalypse

... I've had personal problems. I'm sorry. I should have been able to write more in the months between the last chapter and this one, but again; personal problems keep popping up. My mother has been in rehab, the friend/relative with cancer died, another one died last Saturday, and there have been other issues giving me trouble, and my mood affects what you see on this website; I'm depressed-characters die. I'm happy- hot centaur+man... sex. (I have _not_ figured that out yet. I don't think I can do it without killing my brain...) And yes, I know the chapter is short. I'm also trying to get some time in on _Fellowship_.

Kestrel– yeah... I thought I fixed that... but I will... eventually... Thanks for noticing.

Thanks to Wizard116, Fireblade K'Chona, Shadowfax, Moondance, Firelance, Deb Sampson, and Fimbrethil. And the ever-so-charming beta, Mischa Kitsune. Without her, this would be shit.

* * *

"Winter that year was strange and gray.  
The damp wind smelled of Apocalypse,  
and morning skies had a peculiar way  
of slipping cat-quick into midnight." 

–_The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 22: The Damp Wind Smelled of Apocalypse**

Only the calming presence of the Healers and the help from the delegation from Iftel were keeping the castle from descending into complete chaos. The Healers were going _immediately _to anyone they thought might start a Situation that could break the tenuous peace in the castle, and the Iftelans were working around the clock with the Kaled'a'in to find the new assassin, even though Tremane hadn't exactly been assassinated... yet.

The fact that the Empire was mounting a full–out attack on the Eastern border wasn't helping the situation, and things were teetering precariously on the brink. The army attacking the border was small, by Empire-sizes, but it was enough to alarm the Council, so they'd dispatched a section of the standing army to deal with them, and had sent out men and women to recruit new soldiers from around the country, fearing an all-out war.

Tremane was no longer in his body– poisoned by magic, so Chief Healer Trancesk Shomoru said. Nothing that the Healers had tried had worked. Julian had even tried to 'take a walk' in the King's body, but where Rowen's mind had been a deserted city, Tremane's mind was a void, pulling everything toward it. Julian had almost been drawn in, but Masaan had thrown a bucket of water onto Julian to make him snap out of it. He'd woken up freezing and shaking with reaction on the floor of the King's bedchamber, Rowen and Masaan standing over him with unreadable looks on their faces.

Since then, none of the Healers had tried to go into the King's mind, and let the mages take over, to good use. One of the gryphon–Adepts from White Gryphon had identified what it was that was preventing Tremane from coming back into his body; a spell that the Kaled'a'in weren't very familiar with, but their Haighlei allies were. A spell that removed the victim's soul from his body, and trapped it in an item, usually a gem of some sort. The only ways to break the spell were either to kill the caster or to retrieve the item, upon which a reversal spell would be performed. A gem was small; impossible to find, and the caster could have buried it or dropped it into a pond by now. And even if they could find it, the spell would take an Adept to reverse the spell, and now it would drain the mage for weeks. No leylines meant that the mage would have to use his or her own personal power. There were no Adept mages at the castle, and there were none within a week's ride; Tremane would die by the end of the week from starvation. Their only option was to find and kill the caster– not an impossible task, but a daunting one; the caster was somewhere in Hardorn. The origin of the spell had to be within a five–furlong radius of the victim, and the second Tremane's soul had been kidnapped, a shield had clamped down about Hardorn, preventing escape by anyone, friend _or_ foe. No one could get out, and no one could get in. It seemed that the Earth was working with them as well; three days ago the diameter of the shield had begun decreasing in size, passing over houses and living things. Tashiketh pral Skylshaen mentioned that he had heard of this phenomena once before in Ka'Ven'Ush'Ta, occuring in the very beginnings of Iftel, when a convicted murderer had fled the city with a sacred relic that was the equivalent of several of the largest Mage–Storm compacted into a small wave of power. If it were released, it would destroy everything in Iftel, fusing everything together in a burst of energy not unlike that of a lightning bolt hitting a patch of sand. It had chased the woman back to the city to face her fate, and she'd chosen to surrender herself and the object in exchange for living in a small cell for the rest of her life. Tashiketh said he hoped the effect would be the same here, forcing the perpetrator right back to the castle, hopefully in time for them to deal with the massing attack on the border. And hopefully in time for the King to be saved; it was impossible to take over Tremane's body and use it to make sure the King ate and drank– the only way would be if Tremane had a Companion or a Firecat that could use the bond between them, and the King of Hardorn- for all of the other miracles he'd achieved- had neither.

Rowen ducked under a low lintel and hurried down the hall to Julian's suite. He and the young Bard had made up a few hours after the fight and after Rowen had let off some steam against the practice dummies in the castle's salle, deserted now that many of the extra soldiers guarding the Castle had been sent to the Eastern border to join the forming army.

_"I'm sorry," Julian gasped out from where he'd stumbled onto the new wooden floor of the salle. _

_"No, Julian," Rowen said, crossing the floor to where Julian was standing. "I should be sorry. You were tired and injured, and I just kept pushing you. I shouldn't have." Guilt washed through him as he stared down at Julian's drawn face, and a vision of the scars bleeding again flashed though his mind. Why couldn't he stop thinking about the Bard, even when he was somewhere completely unrelated to Julian or anything remotely resembling the other man?_

_"I was a brat." Julian smiled faintly even though the creasing of the skin on the scarred side of his face obviously hurt him. _

_"Let's just not do that again," they said in unison, then smiled nervously. _

_"Jinx," Julian said, and the smile on his face grew into a grin. _

_"Jinx?" _

_"Eh!" Julian tutted, waving a finger at Rowen. "You can't talk until I say your name ten times. Every time you say something, I have to say your name another time." He smiled mischievously, and Rowen knew he was joking. Even while the King lay dying, they could still find humor in small things. _

He knocked on the oak door, and Julian's muffled voice sounded from inside. "Enter!"

Rowen pushed the door open to find the sitting room empty. He ducked through the doorframe and passed into the bedroom. Julian was on the floor in the middle of the suite, legs crossed, elbows propped on his knees. His hands were pointed away from his body, and his fingers were splayed in the OK sign. His right side was turned toward Rowen, and the tear–scar was unnaturally white. The Changechild couldn't help but stare.

"Julian... what are you doing?"

Color flooded into the Bard's face, contrasting oddly against the white of the scar, but to his credit he didn't budge. "Meditating," he said hesitantly. "One of the mages told me about it, and I decided to try to 'find' the King's soul."

Rowen kept himself from rolling his eyes. "Any luck?"

"None." The blind man sounded gloomy. "I've only been at it for a few hours, though. We have to get that caster back."

"A few hours? And you don't have a reaction-headache yet?"

"No," Julian said. "Ever since the Healers put the new shields on me and taught me that new shielding technique, I've been able to test the limits of my power. I honestly don't know how far it goes or how to use it, though. But... Rowen, it's almost like seeing again!" He sounded excited; he hadn't been very enthusiastic about anything lately, and Rowen was slightly worried. Julian was getting thinner and paler by the day. "I can't see what things look like, but I can kind of sense people and walls now. They've got a sort of glow of life-energy around them, and I haven't walked into anyone or anything _once_ since my Gift expanded, not even while I was trying to find the salle on the day Tremane fell!"

"That's great, Julian!" Rowen said. He himself was still slightly afraid of his own power, and hadn't sought more training than necessary to be able to control it. Firestarting was a dangerous thing; the tale of Lavan Firestorm had migrated down to the Plains– he'd destroyed what was almost an entire army! And Shin'a'in feared fire like they feared no living thing. It was almost unheard of for one of the Plainspeople to have the Gift of Firestarting, mainly because they were such a peaceful people, except for those who became mercenaries and those who were Kal'enedral. But for the latter, was it possible that they had left the Plains because of the Gift? If it ever got out of control—

He knew the stories of grass–fires by heart. They swept across the dry Plains in summer, faster than a man or a horse could run, and there was no way to escape them except to cover yourself in a wet tent, bury yourself in the dirt and hope the fire passed over you without killing you. Rowen went a little cold when he tried to imagine one fueled by a Firestarter. Lavan had been able to burn wood even if it were wet or green; would a Firestarter–born fire pass over even a pond, or would it remain on the surface of the pond and steam and boil away the water until the bed was as dry and cracked as a desert? The Shin'a'in wouldn't have a chance.

Julian shifted a little. "Are you having any success with your Gift?"

"Er– no. I mean– I really haven't tried to do much."

The Bard seemed surprised. "Why?"

"I think– it's probably– at least in part– because Shin'a'in are leery of magic in general– only shamans are allowed to use it– and also because we're taught to be very, very careful around fire. On the Plains, it's a killer. And... I'm a warrior, Julian. I'm not one of your Heralds, and I prefer to fight with weapons I can see and hold, and that I can _know– _something I can understand or pull back. Even though I'm no Lavan Firestorm, this Gift is still fairly powerful, and I don't want to kill using it. You can pull the blow with a weapon; you can't stop from burning a person from the inside-out. I don't want anything to do with it, and I still don't know why I toasted Ormus. I didn't even know how to use the Gift–"

Julian interrupted him then, with a slightly panicky look on the side of his face that Rowen could see. "Oh, Masaan and I have discussed it, and we think that my Empathy triggered a sympathetic reaction in your Gift and it did the only thing it could do– burn."

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X**

Julian almost fell over with relief when he Felt that Rowen was buying the story. Rowen would never accept the truth– that the lifebond had triggered Rowen's Gift to burn Ormus into a smoldering pile of ash. Hence the lie. He felt the vague twinge of guilt at the untruth, but Rowen truly would never understand... Even in Valdemar most people were wary of anyone who was shaych– something that Julian couldn't understand. Why was it that 'normal' men always assumed that they were irresistible to a man who was shaych? Valdemar was said to be one of the most accepting countries known. So how could a Shin'a'in accept the bond between himself and another man? Julian bit his lip.

"Something wrong?" Rowen asked.

"No," Julian said quickly. He got to his feet. "Nothing is wrong. Do you want to go see if we can find some lunch?"

"Alright," Rowen said, suddenly aware that he was ravenous. They left the suite and took the direct route to the dining hall.

As they walked down the hallway, Rowen turned to his companion. "When do you think the caster will be back?"

"Soon, I think. I've just got that feeling."

"Woman's intuition?" Rowen teased.

"Yeah," Julian mumbled, turning his face away from Rowen.

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" the Changechild repeated.

"I– yes," Julian said. "I'm just tired, that's all. Sometimes I just get this feeling of distress rushing towards me from far away, and I feel impending doom coming from overhead." (A/N: This would be a good time for a dead gryphon to come crashing through the ceiling...)

_Great explanation,_ he thought dejectedly. _Now he's going to think you're pessimistic _and _paranoid. _

But all Rowen said was, "Oh."

The menu was fresh deer or pork for the gryphons; herb grass and vegetables sufficed for the dyheli and Companions. Chicken-something was available for the humans who cared to eat with those who were not. The courtiers and servants ate either the chicken dish or more refined meals in other, smaller rooms that were available if one did not wish to watch a gryphon bolt down still-bleeding chunks of meat. Rowen piled his plate high with grass and the chicken dish, and Julian selected a small chicken breast to pick at.

"Aren't you hungry?" Rowen asked when they found a table that was high enough for him to sit at without either hunching or kneeling.

"Not really," Julian mumbled once he'd managed to balance himself on the high stool across from Rowen. He truly wasn't. Hunger hadn't been much of a concern concern as of late– really, ever since he'd found out about the lifebond, he'd been eating less. He knew he'd lost weight, but he wasn't concerned about it. He could afford to lose a few pounds, and Rowen wouldn't notice, he told himself again with a pang of anxiety. Julian sighed. He _was_ getting paranoid about the Shin'a'in, wasn't he?

They finished the meal without any more inquiries on Julian's appetite and left the hall, intending to visit Masaan on his lunch break and inquire about the status of the shrinking shield.

On their way down, though, Rowen stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" Julian asked, worried that the Changechild might have suddenly discovered the presence of the lifebond.

"Some of the guards on the walls are yelling for mages. Something about a horse with a rider running full-speed toward the castle. And– oh, _sheka_!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"What?"

Rowen started moving faster than before, this time in the direction of the castle entrance. Julian followed as fast as he could, relying on the Empathy to tell him when he was about to run into a wall.

"They say there's a rippling wall of what looks like thick air following the rider. It's the caster!"

**x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X**

Both men sped up and reached the front doors just as a phalanx of guards and mages did. There was some confusion as the massed group tried to get through the door, then they were all out in the sunwarmed air, proceeding to the second, lower wall that was between the main castle wall and the plains surrounding the castle. The mages were all conferring as they climbed the ladders leading to the top of the wall, Herald-Mage Shensa seeming to be the leader. She nodded at the rest of the mages, and they all arrayed themselves on the wall. Rowen pushed his way over to her. "What are you planning?" he called up from his place on the ground; ladders were not his friend.

"We're going to use what power we have to lift the horse off the ground. For all we know, the rider is a decoy and the caster is approaching from another direction or is even still here in the castle. The decoy could try to use the mage's version of a Final Strike while the caster kills Tremane. If he dies, we think the shield will, too. The whole Earth-taking ceremony deal."

"The King is guarded, right?" Julian asked from his position next to Shensa. His arms were braced on a block of stone and he seemed to be staring off into the distance.

Shensa nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes. There are gryphons, kyree, and the Shin'a'in Envoy."

Rowen felt relief wash over him. The Shin'a'in Envoy was also a Swordsworn. Nothing would get by the man, not even a Cold Blade.

He scanned the horizon, hoping to spot the rider. "Who initially saw the rider?"

"One of the gyrfalcons. She said he was a few leagues off, coming in from the East on a light–colored horse."

Rowen stared at the long plain that stretched away into the East. "That makes a good indication that he was fleeing toward the Empire," he said thoughtfully.

"We know."

He looked again and saw a small white dot moving at a pell-mell speed directly toward the castle and pointed it out to the others. "What kind of horse can keep up that kind of speed for so long?"

"Something from the Shin'a'in, maybe?" Shensa suggested cautiously.

"Perhaps. But we don't sell the horses to people that don't come to where we sell them, and there would have been rumors of Empire men coming in to buy horses."

"Who says that those who sold the horses weren't silenced?" Shensa said somberly.

He leveled a glance at her that clearly said, 'Don't even _think_ that.'

The horse closed to within three furlongs of the castle, and Rowen could make out that the rider was wrapped in a concealing brown cloak. He could also see the shimmering wall of 'air' that followed the horse at a steady pace. It didn't look harmful, but it didn't look like it wasn't going to crush the rider if it had to.

"Mages!" Shensa cried. "On my mark, lift!"

The archer–guards trained their arrows on the fast–approaching form of the horse.

"One!"

The horse was two furlongs away.

"Two!"

One furlong.

"Three!"

The horse suddenly lifted off the ground by some invisible force. It squealed and pumped its legs furiously and kept moving toward the castle more slowly.

"That shouldn't be happening!" Shensa exclaimed. "Is someone pushing from the back?"

"No!" "Not me!" "Nope!" came the negative answers from the arranged mages.

"So then what?" Rowen wondered out loud.

The horse- now Rowen could see that it was a stallion– was within ten yards of the group of men and women on the low wall when it stopped and eyed the guards, mages and Rowen warily. Rowen couldn't seem to see its eyes very well, though. Was there some magic cloaking the horse and its rider?

Shensa made a _down_ motion with her hand, and the mages let the stallion down gently. The rider was unmoving in the saddle, and Rowen wondered if he or she was unconscious.

The horse let out a loud snort, legs splayed and shaking. He raised a weary head to look Rowen in the eyes, and the Shin'a'in realized–belatedly– that its eyes were the bright blue of a summer sky on the Plains. A Companion?

Cautiously, one of the guards reached up and pulled the concealing cloak off of the figure atop the white stallion. When it came away, a large purple jewel came into view around the rider's small neck, glinting with a light that was _not_ natural. Large violet eyes that matched the jewel stared in abject fear at Rowen, and a pouting mouth opened to cry.

Rowen decided that hitting his head against the nearest wall was a very enticing idea.

The caster was a four–year old boy.


	23. Fallen Angels at My Feet

Well, it's been a year. A year since this crazy story born out of an idea of "What if?" began. Originally it was going to be a straight romance between a Changed Herald and his Companion, but that presented a problem in the form of 'what happened to the Companion's mind?' So it went a different way, and it wound up having more action and more of a plot. Now I'm tempted to kill both of our boys to see what the readers have to say about it. Not that you aren't already annoyed with the lack of updates. (I'm sorry about that. I think we've cleared up a few problems, but then I needed to take time out of my schedule for graduation, finals, and a doomed romance. And getting attacked by homeless men. see Xanga/homepage for details Plus… this is kind of embarrassing, but my computer's fan was making funny noises, and I couldn't work with it doing that, so I stuck a key in there to make it stop… it worked for a while, but then it died… I think I fried my hard drive, so I haven't been able to write in a while… the key worked before, I just kind of forgot it was in there this time… but I'm bringing it to a friend tomorrow to see if he can fix it without wiping my 2.5 gigs of music, so hopefully it will be back up soon. Lucky me: I have a Lexar Media chip, and all my research and stories are on it.)

And now back to being "I'm depressed and so I whine, so I whine, all the time. I'm depressed and so I whine, my name's Hiron." (To the tune of London Bridges.)

* * *

Tatsu-kitty- Gah! Creepy. I swear, I've never seen that picture before… Then again, every idea's been done at least once… "Simpsons did it!" 

Shadowfax- #gratified# Thanks.

Thanks to deb-sampson, wizard116, Nali Fiero, Amber Stag, Beff, Kodora, TatsuKitty, Firelance, Fimbrethil, and Fireblade K'Chona. And I'm still singing the praises of my beta, Mischa Kitsune.

* * *

Notes: I used Old English for Empiric, since I'm likening Valdemar to America, i.e. "There is no one true way," and since America is really a patchwork of the rest of the world… and since the national language is English, and the original Valdemarans defected from the Empire… Minus the crazy, conservative, power-hungry leader, of course. And for anyone that actually understands Old English: No, I did not conjugate, and no, the grammar and placement is not correct. 

Excuses: I am horrible at characterizing. All of my characters seem to have the same personality, and it's only when I describe a personality that it does. Why am I telling you this? Because I can't write POV of a four-year old. Or I tried, and I don't think it worked.

* * *

I'm frightened by what I see  
But somehow I know  
That there's much more to come  
Immobilized by my fear  
And soon to be  
Blinded by tears  
I can stop the pain  
If I will it all away 

_-Evanescence "Whisper"_

**Chapter 23: Fallen Angels at My Feet**

Brilliant, blue-white light. Purity and magic and knowledge, all rolled into a Reborn.

A Companion! Julian grabbed the arm of the Guardsman perched next to him in an attempt to stop the inevitable rain ofdeathjust as a call of 'Don't shoot!' rang out over the walls.

A woman's voice. "That's a Companion! For the love of the Lady, _don't shoot!_"

Rowen could be heard cursing faintly in the background. A nervous whinny arose when the clatter of Rowen's hooves sounded on the pavement near the bright presence of the Companion.

"Easy. Who are you? Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" Rowen's voice was gentle as Julian scrambled off the wall and through a doorway that Felt open. Herald Shensa walked beside him projecting an aura of kindness and welcome.

"Why isn't he Speaking?" Shensa muttered. "He should have warned us that he was coming so there wouldn't be this much alarm. What's _wrong_?"

Julian probed the Companion with his mind, hoping to feel what he normally felt if he probed a Companion- with its permission, of course- blue light, a sense of humor, dignity, knowledge, to name a few, and met with– nothing. No thoughts, no Speech, not even a sliver of emotion. It was like there was a shield over the-

"Something's Shielding him!" he blurted, startling Shensa. "The Companion can't Speak or even say anything to another Companion because something's blocking him! He's got his mind, but the only thing he can do is communicate like a horse." Beside Shensa, Lihandra stiffened with shock, and then- pure rage flooded the general atmosphere, and Julian stepped away slightly. Inside the castle walls, equine screams rent the air. Apparently this was new to the Companions- and they didn't like it.

A child's voice said something in a tongue that was foreign to Julian, but obviously very familiar to the defectors of the Empire. There was a pause, then almost all of the men in the courtyard started gabbling in Empiric to the Companion, and at last, Julian understood: the stallion had chosen a child of the Empire- evidently a very _young_ child, for the voice was that of a prepubescent, and a frightened one at that.

Julian pushed his way to the front of the throng, Shensa at his side. Lihandra was next to the strange Companion, attempting to break the shield. There was a short cry from the boy on the Companion's back, then Rowen lunged forward and caught the child as he fell from the saddle.

"He's malnourished," said Rowen. "And dehydrated. Where's a Healer?"

"Here." A Healer rushed forward to take the boy from Rowen, and three more came to lay hands on the Companion who had more than abused himself in his struggle to find his Chosen. The stallion abruptly lay down on the ground next to a hastily-constructed pallet . Herald Shensa made her way over to the boy on the makeshift pallet, dragging a soldier behind her.

"Who is he?" she asked the man, who translated to the boy. The child whimpered something.

"He says his name is Shored," the soldier said. "Do we have to question him now?" he added, sympathy plain in his voice.

"We have to know why he took Tremane's soul and if he can put it back. We can't very well kill him, but Hardorn needs her King," Shensa explained. "I know he's tired, and his Companion is more so, but when we know why and how he did what he did, we may have the key to releasing his Companion, who is-" she paused, presumably talking with Lihandra. "Groveborn!"

Her voice turned shaky. "Another Groveborn besides Rolan… this is bad. _And_ someone had the power to Mindblock him. Ye Gods…"

A jingle of harness bells as the Companion shook his head in frustration as Shensa continued.

"Even Kalira wasn't Groveborn; neither was Yfandes, and they were Bonded to two of the most powerful Heralds that Valdemar has ever seen. Are we in for the one war that may destroy Valdemar?"

Julian paled. A war even bigger than the one with Karse…

_Fire. Blood red skies. Soldiers fought on a battlefield turned muddy with blood, stepping on wounded men and tripping over dead ones. Ravens and vultures circled the skies above, patiently waiting for the fighting to end; the feast to follow was sure, and they could wait. Ragged banners showing the arms of Hardorn, Rethwellan, Karse and Valdemar lay trampled in the red mud or were being used to carry wounded men from the killing grounds. Heralds and Companions lay dead on the earth, along with Firecats and their Bonded. Above the sounds of clashing steel and screaming, a single laugh arose on the winds of death; the cruel, cold laughter of a single mage…_

_A name… Melles…_

Gasps arose from many of the men and women standing within fifteen feet of the boy, including one from Julian.

To any of the Gifted, the Foresight vision was clear, even to those who did not have the Gift of Foresight; even to Julian.

But where was it coming from?

"The boy," Shensa said suddenly. "Shored. It's coming from him."

Lihandra snorted in agreement, and Julian frowned. "But how? There are no records of this ever happening before."

"He's got to be a Foreseer and a Mindspeaker," Shensa said shortly. "That's the only way that he could have done that."

"Can we bring him inside now?" the as-yet unnamed Healer asked. "He seems to be stable now, but we need to get him inside and cleaned up."

"Fine," Shensa said gruffly. "But I want to question him again when he's stronger. Tremane doesn't have much time left, and the boy has his soul around his neck. Speaking of which-" Julian heard the sound of a belt knife being pulled, and a short gasp from the boy. A short ripping sound and a satisfied sound from Shensa. "I'll be taking this."

Shored moaned, and a similar noise arose from the Mindblocked Companion next to him. Shensa began to walk away, and the moan intensified into a quiet wail. She stopped and turned. "What-"

Slowly, almost unnoticeably, the wind started to pick up. Dead leaves and loose dirt began to swirl around the humans near the wall. Julian frowned. This was weird.

The wind came in gusts now, whipping clothing and hair about with eerie force. The air seemed to thicken and become charged with electricity, and Julian smelled burnt ozone. Small sticks and tiny rocks became projectiles that battered themselves against the wall and each other. An eerie howl undulated through the air, and Julian knew in his soul that it wasn't the wind. His instincts were telling him to leave, run, get somewhere small and safe where some _thing_ couldn't get at him, and an unaware terror began to grow in him. The rocks and sticks flew faster and began throwing themselves at the humans, many of whom began to scramble toward the presumed safety of the castle walls. The Companion surged to his feet, perhaps better to protect Shored. The Healers stayed with their patients, and Julian tried to make his way through the buffeting winds toward them. A presence loomed at his right, and Rowen's arm pulled Julian to lean on his bulk. "Come on!" he shouted above the howl of the wind. "I think it's the boy that's doing this! We have to stop-" a fist-sized rock thudded into the side of the Changechild's head, and he swayed on his feet.

"Rowen!" Julian cried in concern.

"I'm fine!" Rowen protested, and another, bigger rock slammed into his unprotected side, and Julian heard the crack of breaking ribs.

"Stop!" he screamed at the boy. "Please stop! You're hurting him!" Shensa was next to him, then, yelling in his left ear.

"I think he wants the pendant!" she screamed.

Pendant? "What pendant?" he shouted back.

"The one with Tremane's soul that I took from around his neck!"

Oh. That pendant.

"You took it!"

"What was I supposed to do, leave it with him?"

She had a point.

"That doesn't matter! Give it back!"

Shensa screamed, "I can't even see! There's too much dust in the air, and the sky is completely dark! I think we're the only ones out here- use your Empathy!"

Duh.

He pulled his shields down partway and found the boy and his Companion ten feet in front of them. The Healers were scattered around on the ground, and it felt like they had been knocked out. He widened his field of 'sight,' and found several of the mages and Guards huddled down on the ground in balls or unconscious, and the rest of the castle in a panic, a hundred yards away. Lihandra was trying to fight her way back toward the unknown Companion and his boy, but there was something pushing her back, and she was limping on three legs.

Julian pressed through the wind and darkness and flying things that he could not see, placing one foot in front of him. One step. Then another. Rowen shouldered through next to him, even though he was clearly in pain. Shensa was on his other side, and the three of them pushed their way toward the boy from the Empire and his Companion.

"Shored! Stop! You can have the pendant back! Just stop!" Shensa screamed.

There was a thunderous sound of snapping wood as an oak tree was ripped out of the ground to their left, and a whoosh as it flew toward them. Julian and Shensa threw themselves on the ground and there was a flash of heat as Rowen incinerated the tree. They stumbled back up and made their way to the boy.

"Shored! Here!" Shensa screamed, brandishing the jewel at him. "Take it!"

The wind whipped it out of her grasp and toward the boy, who did not notice as it flew into the dirt to bury itself under his pallet. The supernatural force and actions of the wind did not abate, however, and the two Valdemarans and the Shin'a'in ducked as another tree flew by overhead. A frantic _moo_ing came from overhead as something very large was thrown overhead.

'_A cow?_'

"Baa!"

'_This is getting ridiculous,_' Julian thought as what had to be a sheep flew by, buoyed by the winds.

He _reached _for the boy, but was met by a slippery wall of force that blocked his mental hand, and it slid away from the boy.

Julian rethought his jerry-rigged strategy and _reached_ for the Companion, hoping to get to the boy by jumping from the not-horse through their Bond. Instead, he was met by a sort of cube-shape around the Companion's mind.

'_What the-_'

The thing was definitely cube-shaped, with razor edges clearly meant to defend against mind-probes. Every side was divided into nine even squares, each tinted with a different type of spell. One thing was constant, though- there were only six tints, and each tint had exactly nine, even squares. No same colored squares touched. Julian studied it, then realized with a start-

"It's a puzzle!" he shouted aloud.

"What?" Rowen yelled, but Julian was too busy studying the puzzle to answer.

Could he push the shield sections across the cube to touch each other? He pushed on one gently first, then with all of his might. No. But what if he tried pulling it apart? Cautiously, he inserted a mental javelin between two squares and tugged, but nothing happened. He grabbed the middle section of cubes and pulled- his mental grip slid off, but the section spun on an axis to match two squares together. Julian gasped and grabbed another section and yanked experimentally. It twisted, too.

"Rowen!" he yelled, and hit the Changechild on the shoulder. "I think I can get the shield off the Companion. Cover me and make sure I don't get distracted!"

"Right!" Rowen screamed back.

"Shensa!" Julian shouted. No reply. "Shensa!" he yelled louder. Still nothing. He probed- only to find her unconscious from what could only be a mental psi bolt. Lihandra was steadily making her way toward them through the worsening winds, though, and in half a minute she was curled around her Chosen.

Rowen gripped Julian on the shoulder. "Good luck!" he yelled, and the next second, the world turned to flame.

The Changechild created a net of fire out of the very air around them, draping it around the two of them and the Companion and her unconscious Herald. It incinerated anything larger than a tankard that flew at them. Anything smaller- Rowen grunted and Julian felt him move his body to kneel over Julian, shielding the Empath-Bard while he worked. Julian flushed with both unwanted but unbanishable sexual tension and concern for his friend, who had at least three cracked ribs and certainly a concussion.

He pushed the distraction away, and concentrated on solving the puzzle. Turn-turn-turn- he had one side, but the rest was still mixed. He could feel the Companion pushing from the inside with no success, and scrambled the puzzle again, twisting. It seemed like hours had passed, and he'd only been able to get one side at a time, and he was beginning to despair of ever freeing the Companion. Suddenly, a strong Presence was beside him, studying the mind-puzzle. Who-

:_Boy. . . Bard. . . _:

What the hell?

:_It's me, Bard. Lihandra._:

The- Shensa's Companion was Speaking to him? But Companions _never _spoke to anyone but their Chosen-

:_Yes, I'm Speaking to you._: Her voice was gravelly, sort of like an old woman's voice. :_Can you solve it?_: she asked, referring to the puzzle.

'_I'm no good at puzzles,_' he admitted. '_What do we do?_'

:We _do nothing. I will try to solve it._:

Stung, he retreated from the puzzle to reality, and the still-whipping winds and stones. Rowen was sagging above him, and he knew the Changechild couldn't last much longer.

:_What are you _doing: Lihandra asked.

"Staying out of it!" he yelled back.

There was a short pause. :_I can't see the puzzle without you,_: she admitted. :_I'm sorry I was so brusque. Please go back to the puzzle so I can try to free Gaelan._:

He nodded at her and went back to staring at the cube-puzzle. Before him, sections of the puzzle began spinning on a central axis, some faster than he could make out the color. Sides would be complete, then go back to spinning before he could make out the tint. He watched until his 'vision' became blurry, and he realized that he was fading with Reaction.

'_Lihandra?_' he thought. '_Lihandra, I don't think I can hold on much longer._'

:_I can't solve it,_: she replied, mental voice colored gray with fatigue. :_I can _feel _the blocks, but I can't_ see _them. All I'm doing it spinning them until a side has a unanimous texture, but I can't get two sides at once._:

An idea arose in his mind. '_What if I let you see what I'm seeing?_'

:_But you're blind,_: she asked, confused. :_How can you see the puzzle?_:

He couldn't explain it to her, so he just threw a mental line to her. She took it, and for a split second, he thought there was a tall, birdlike woman with brown eyes, hair and skin holding his hand. He shook his head, and the vision vanished to be replaced with a strange sense of both being wrapped around the cube and seeing it from far away. There was also a sense of power that was his, but inherently not his- it was Lihandra's, and it was depleting fast. The cube was also spinning faster than it had before, but the Companion beneath was withering.

'_Lihandra-_' he began, intending to tell her what he thought was happening.

:_I know. It's being fed by Gaelan's energy, and the more we try to solve it, the more it drains him. 'Groveborn' is not synonymous with 'invincible.'_:

'_Can we do anything?_'

:_You can let me finish trying to solve the puzzle._:

He left her alone and briefly probed for Rowen, ignoring his unbehaving body's reaction. The Changechild was swaying on his knees above Julian, and the flame net was almost gone.

Abruptly, he found himself staring at the puzzle. The nearly completed puzzle. Lihandra turned it one more time, and there was an almost audible _snap_, like a bone being pushed back into its socket. All six sides glowed solidly, and Lihandra sighed.

:_It's done._:

'_Now what?_'

:_Watch._: She seemed satisfied. Julian found out why when cracks began to run around the shield-cube, and then they deepened into fissures, then the entire thing fragmented. Bright shards of the shield disintegrated as Gaelan's mind reared free of its confinements.

Lihandra pulled away from him, and his view returned to normal- nothing, and his sense of reality returned as well. Everything was still blowing, but it was slower and less malevolent. Above Julian, Rowen swayed again, and the net vanished.

"Sorry- Julian-" he gasped out, then fell on his damaged right side.

Without warning, the wind stopped.

Everything seemed eerily silent after the cessation of the constant howling and shrieking of the artificial storm, and it seemed like Julian was deaf, for a moment.

Rowen groaned, breaking the silence, and Julian shook himself out of his exhausted daze to scramble over to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly. "Rowen?"

"Eh… I'm fine," the Changechild gasped out. "Just let me lie here for a bit, and tell the Healers not to move me much- one of the broken ribs is digging into a lung, and I don't want to puncture it." Without waiting for Julian to reply, he continued. "_Sheka_, this hurts. Check on the lad, will you?"

Julian nodded and stumbled over to where Shored lay, with Gaelan standing guard over him.

The boy felt fine. He was very weak and exhausted, and his body's resources were almost nil, but he was going to survive. Gaelan was much in the same way, but more so.

Julian knelt and scrabbled around in the dirt under the pallet for the pendant. His fingers closed around it and he drew it out. He felt around for the clasp, intending to place it around Shored's neck, before he realized that Shensa had torn the chain apart. Sighing, he placed the pendant in the boy's open palm, closing his fingers around it. Almost immediately, Shored Felt better, and Julian sat down on the ground before he could collapse. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, and groaned as he discovered what the magnitude of this Reaction was going to be.

A soft touch on his forehead. He put his hand up to find the muzzle of a Companion against the crown of his head. It could only be Gaelan.

:_Bard,_: a deep, masculine voice said. The signs of the impending headache vanished like they had never been. :_Thank you._:

The Healers were beginning to come around, and Julian could hear chiming coming from the direction of the castle. The Heralds were coming.

* * *

"A Groveborn!" 

"Did you hear? The new Companion is a Groveborn!"

"It's not possible! Why would a Groveborn choose a child from the Empire?"

The rumors of the Groveborn flew through the castle like wildfire, causing no end of headache for the resident Heralds, who themselves had no idea what to make of Gaelan, and no idea of what to do with his Chosen, who couldn't be separated from the pendant, lest there be an encore performance of his entrance.

The Healers, mages and Herald-mages were clustered around Tremane day and night, fighting to bolster his body's failing resources with what they could transfer. It wouldn't last long, however, and Shored refused to talk about the pendant. When anyone asked him about putting Tremane's soul back in his body, however, he would affix them with a blank look, clearly not understanding what they were asking of him.

The problem of what was going to happen to Tremane was becoming a major point of contention between Herald Shensa and some of the mages who clearly did not understand just what a Herald was and did, and thought to forgo what could prove to be a major help against the Empire.

"Do you really want to sacrifice a kingdom for the sake of one boy's life?" a thin, cadaverous mage asked her.

"The kingdom with not fall with his death!" Shensa shot back. "There can be a new King-"

"He's a boy!"

"A _Herald_!"

"Not yet."

"He will be," she insisted.

"Even so, aren't Heralds usually called to sacrifice themselves in the line of duty?" a pretty young mage asked, smirking.

"Not when they are children that are still learning to speak," Shensa said hotly. "And not when we still have other options."

"Such as?"

"Finding an Adept mage."

"There's no _time_!" the woman said. "Even if there _were_ any Adepts of use anymore, we only have two days at best to put his soul back, and the closest Adepts are three days away! How do you propose we fix him now, _Herald_?"

"We will," Shensa said calmly. "But any who would kill that boy will have to destroy every Herald and Companion in the castle and any within a three-day range of here."

Stony silence met her words.

"And go through myself and Rowen first," Julian said from the doorway. "No one kills Shored, and if he does. . . The _dyrstaf _was bad enough. I can make it ten times worse." Next to him, Rowen produced a flame that danced upon his fingertips. "This castle will find a new meaning to the word 'hell.'"

When the impromptu argument had dispersed and they were back out in the hallway, Shensa asked Rowen, "Wasn't that a little melodramatic?"

"Not when you're dealing with mages," the Shin'a'in informed her. "And not mages that come from the Empire. They're used to responding to threats, and they don't know if I'm bluffing or not."

"Are you?" Shensa asked, only half joking.

He looked at her solemnly. "I don't know."

Two days passed, and Tremane was on the brink of death.

"Shored," Julian pleaded with the boy. "Please, tell us how to put Tremane's soul back."

The boy gave him a blank look.

"_Helpe,_" he tried in Empiric, even though he knew the defectors from the Empire had already tried pleading in both Hardornen and Empiric. "_Léodcyning inýdhelp._" The King is in trouble.

The boy perked up. "_Melles?_"

"_Nan__. Áhwæðer Melles gád gehríered._" No. Someone Melles wants destroyed.

"_Ac?_" Why?

Julian struggled for the words. "_Nú Melles áblycgan_ _léodcyning canne ástyntan Cás_." Because Melles is afraid that this King can stop Empire.

Shored grinned ferally, and Julian felt encouraged.

"_Cyst thou helpe_?" Will you help?

The boy's demeanor turned around again. He withdrew into himself, looking afraid. Julian felt pity for this young boy, who had been taken away from his home and everything he knew, and didn't understand why. The adults couldn't even comfort him, because they didn't know why, themselves. Only that Shored was going to play a major role in the upcoming war with the Empire.

"_Shored? Ǽghwæt wyrs_?" Shored? What is wrong?

Shored didn't answer but began to rock back and forth slowly.

"Shored?"

The boy remained silent, and now had his lower lip between his teeth.

"Shored?"

* * *

"Shored?" 

The strange man wouldn't leave him alone, but Shored really wished that he would.

Ever since the horse- _Gaelan_, his mind corrected- had brought him here, adults wearing strange clothing had been bothering him day and night, asking about the Soul Stone. Could they see it, why did he have it, why did he take 'Tremane's' soul, why wouldn't he put 'Tremane's' soul back?

:_Chosen?_: Gaelan asked gently.

:_Go away._:

:_Chosen_:Gaelan persisted. :_Why won't you talk to him?_:

:_Why do you call me __Chosen_: Shored countered.

:_Because you are,_: Gaelan said simply. :_You are my Chosen._: There was an outpouring of love from the stallion, which Shored tried to resist.

:_Stop that!_: he shouted at the Companion, scrunching his face up in concentration. The man stared at him.

:_Stop what?_: Gaelan asked, innocent sweetness oozing from his voice.

:_That. . . love thing. I don't need it, and I don't want it._:

:_Why?_:

:_Because I don't! I'm a big b- an adult, and I don't need a horse bothering me all the time._:

Gaelan said:_I don't care how adult you think you are, and how adult you think. You're a four-year old boy. You're younger than everyone else in this castle. You're alone in a strange place. We can make some decisions for you. And I love you, Shored. You need love._:

:_Don't,_: Shored insisted, chewing his lip until it hurt.

:_You do. I don't know what they told you in the Empire, but here, four-year old boys are not expected to make their own decisions or go condemning people to death._:

:_W-what?_: Shored asked, startled.

:_If you do not give them the pendant- Soul Stone, then their King will die._:

:_'Tremane'?_:

:_Yes, Tremane. His soul is in the stone. They've been telling you that for two days; haven't you been listening?_:

:_I don't speak their language. You tried to teach me it, but I can't understand much yet. For the past two days, they've been saying something about killing me, and one of the first ones that spoke to me said that in order to put the King's soul back, I need to die. I think everyone else just agrees with that._:

:_Of all the-_: Gaelan began, then softened. :_No, you don't have to die. All we need to know is if you can put it back or not._:

That only confirmed Shored's worst fears. :_They are going to kill __me._:

:_Why?_:

:_I can't put it back._:


	24. Tell Me Where All Past Years Are

Heh... I'm another year older. And... sniffle I feel old. Despite the fact that I haven't really yet grasped the concept of my own mortality, I feel like I'm _old_. God damn.

Fireblade K'Chona: I know. The fact that Gwena is Groveborn isn't exactly common knowledge among the Heralds, though, much less anyone else.

Captain Kurt Hoffman: That comment of mine was completely unwarranted. I went over the line with expressing my own views of the "President," but if you thought my comments were unwarranted. . . well, I suggest you go and take a look at what LockDown's (ID#358518) been saying about our country of residence. (That's assuming you live in America, but seeing as you support Bush, I can't imagine you live anywhere else. not an insult, merely an observation) I can't exactly say I agree with LockDown since he's been saying "America sucks," though not in so many words. He has directly said that Americans are ignorant idiots, though. Go get 'im, tiger.

Allornadara: It was a pleasure to speak with you.

Fimbrethil: I gotta say, you nailed it right on the head. I was planning on ending the story that way, but now I'm dithering over it. I can't decide . . . requited or unrequited? Hmm . . .

Also thanks to Moojava, TastuKitty, Raven'teacher, wizard116, zafaran, and Alacaeriel.

Warnings: This chapter contains somewhat graphic descriptions of incest, rape, and sex.

Notes:

Mischakitsune did not get a chance to beta this. There may be some errors.

Gaelan is pronounced GAY-lan. Shored is pronounced SHORE-ed. Shore as in the sea shore, and ed as in Edward. Jaron is JAH-rohn, and Tenri is 10-ree.

Kartak can be found at the southeastern point of the Altvar Confederation, which I believe is part of the Eastern Empire. The definition of the Eastern Empire, as defined in The Valdemar Companion, is "A collection of conquered countries east of Hardorn ruled by 200-year old Emperor Charliss." When I was reading, I remember that it was believed by Charliss that Valdemar, Hardorn and Iftel, etc. were 'too tough a nut to crack,' so they went south to the Salten Sea, and then went for the western countries. (I think.) There is a sea called 'The Bitter Sea,' which I believe is the Salten Sea. The whole point of me saying that was that I think that the Altvar Confederation is part of the Eastern Empire.

**A random fact:** Did you know that the Empire was founded by stranded mercenaries? This makes me wonder. . . how far back does Velgarth's history go, and what lies beyond Velgarth?

**A random thought/Information you might be interested in:** Neat. Tantara is apparently "a land far from the Kaled'a'in Clans. Amberdrake's family volunteered to live there in the city of Therium so that the Kaled'a'in would have agents in the north. When Ma'ar took over the neighboring realm of Predain and moved against Tantara, Amberdrake's family was caught in the war, and he never saw them again." Now, this makes me think; since Lake Evendim is where Ma'ar was when he died, I can only assume that Amberdrake's Predain College of Chirurgeons and thus Predain, are located north of the Ice Wall Mountains. Confusing, no? I just wish there was a map for whatever's north of the Ice Wall Mountains, and west and south of Jkatha and Velvar, i.e. the Haighlei Empire and White Gryphon. (and another continent, but that's entirely divided between four Haighlei kingdoms)

"And lo, the author forges onward in the journey to find an actual plotline."

* * *

Go and catch a falling star,  
Get with child a mandrake root,  
Tell me where all past years are,  
Or who cleft the devil's foot,  
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,  
Or to keep off envy's stinging,  
And find  
What wind  
Serves to advance an honest mind. 

- _John Donne_

**Chapter 24: Tell Me Where All Past Years Are**

:_You can't put it back?_: Gaelan repeated.

:_No,_: Shored said, fingering the purple jewel around his neck.

:_Why?_:

:_I didn't– I don't– I don't remember taking it out. I don't think I did it._:

:_You had to have. You have the Stone, and the Shield was in the process of chasing you back. Speaking of which, what the devil were you doing inside the Border of Hardorn?_:

Shored tried to remember, but could not. It was like he'd been asleep or something.

:_Or something,_: Gaelan said somberly. :_You really can't remember?_:

:_No,_: Shored said, slightly scared now. Why couldn't he remember? This had happened before in his life– or had it? He really could not remember much of his past life clearly, except for pieces here and there, mostly good.

Everything else was. . . fuzzy, like he had seen everything happening through a sheet of water while someone else had his body. And he could not remember some times at all. Like how he'd gotten here. . . .

But that was normal, right? Mum and Da sometimes talked about memories seen from an outsider's point of view. But. . . but Gaelan said that he should remember, yet Shored could only remember a few things. The first time he had seen Nikka, his bratty baby sister; that birthday when Da had taken him for a ride on Cob, the old plowhorse-turned-carthorse; when he had gotten that neat toy soldier for Winter Solstice. . . .

Those were the only times he could remember _at all_. Everything else was... blurry, somehow.

:_Blurry?_: Gaelan asked. :_Even for a Herald, even for a very _young _Herald, blurry is not good. All you can remember are good times, never bad or even sad?_:

:_No._:

:_Wait, did_–_ no, even if you did block them out, you wouldn't block every memory that wasn't happy; only the ones that caused severe discomfort or mental anguish. . . . _: Gaelan was musing now, and Shored turned his attention from the Companion to the blond-haired blind man.

Why was he blind? The young Empiran wondered suddenly. Did it have anything to do with the scars on the left side of his face, or the scary horse-man? And why was he always dressed in red? Shored could remember that much; when Gaelan had brought him here, the man had been wearing red, and now he was wearing red again. But even that was knowledge of what the man had been wearing. Shored could not recall any images from that time; only the knowledge of what had happened, like he had read it, or it had happened to someone else.

"Shored?" the red man said in that strange accent again. "What say Gaelan?"

"Gaelan said that he does not know why I can not remember much of my past." Shored spoke slowly so that the blond man could understand him.

The man asked him to repeat the word for past.

"Past."

"What?"

"Past! Past!" Shored shouted, gesturing with his arms and feeling slightly angry and embarrassed that the man couldn't understand and that Shored couldn't explain. Suddenly, it felt like he was trying to move while underwater. He stared at one slowly-moving arm, and it jerked suddenly. His fingers slowly clenched into a fist of their own volition, and he was afraid.

:_Shored?_: Gaelan asked, sounding alarmed. :_Chosen_:

"Gaelan," Shored tried to say out loud, but his mouth wouldn't obey. :_Gaelan, help!_: he shouted.

:_Sho. . . what is. . .on?_: Gaelan's voice was indistinct, and parts were blocked out.

Shored stared out of eyes that were no longer his, and his body looked at the man across the room.

"Who are you?" his voice asked angrily. "What have you been doing to me?" He said it fast, and the blond man couldn't understand him.

"Pardon?" he asked, clearly unaware that anything was wrong.

"Who. Are. You?" Shored's voice asked again.

"Julian J'Erthan," the man said, looking slightly perplexed.

"Where are we?"

"In the Healer's–" Julian used a word that he obviously could not translate into Empiric, and shook his head in frustration. "–of the Palace."

:_Chos. . . can yo. . . me?_: Gaelan's voice was indistinct again.

:_Yes. Not very well, though,_: Shored, said, hoping to reach his Companion.

His body happened to turn toward the small mirror on the wall, and Shored couldn't stop the purely mental scream that erupted when he caught a glimpse of himself. His face was _twisted_, somehow, much older and full of pain and fury. There was madness dancing in his eyes, and a sort of malicious sorrow. Burns and cuts began to appear on Shored's arms, and they _hurt_. The air shimmered, and Shored's eyes started playing tricks on him. He thought he saw ropes and a haybale.

"Shored?" Julian asked. "Shored?"

'_Why doesn't he run?_' Shored asked himself. '_Run, you fool!_'

:_He can't. . ._: a vague voice that sounded at once like and totally unlike Shored's own sing-sang.

'_Why?_' he asked the voice, hoping that it knew how to get his body back.

:_Blind. . ._:

Oh, god! Julian was blind–of course he couldn't see what was happening!

:_Have to wait for him to tire. . . only then can. . . get in control._:

Right. He would just have to wait. Shored had just made the difficult decision to settle in and try to ride this out, when he saw a truly terrifying sight. Across the room, a drawer was slowly inching open. When the light from the wall-sconces peeked through the opening, the cold glint of polished steel shone. Almost shyly, a long, thin knife edged out of the opening, handle first, and balanced on the edge of the drawer, see-sawing between the floor and the inside of the drawer. The mask of rage on the-Shored-in-the-mirror's face solidified, and the knife stopped wavering. It rose straight up into the air with an aura of determination about it, if that was even possible for an inanimate object. It swiveled until pointing towards Julian, whose face was still a mask of confusion. He groped blindly at the empty air, and realization obviously began to dawn that he was no longer safe.

The knife flipped around so that the tip was facing Julian, who was making his way toward the door.

The blade whizzed through the air like an arrow, gaining in speed as it went, and time seemed to slow. Julian jumped to the side of the door, but he would never be able to avoid the knife.

:_Too late. . ._:

:_Never!_: a voice trumpeted, and the door burst inward in a spray of splinters and silver hooves. One bright blue eye froze the knife, which stopped as if it had hit a wall and fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. Gaelan turned his head to spit not-Shored with the same stare.

:_Shored?_: he asked tentatively.

:_Not here,_: that little voice sang.

:_It's me! I'm here!_: Shored shouted at Gaelan.

Shored's body scrambled out the door, only to be blocked by the horse-man and an Empiric Healer, who had been standing outside on opposite sides of the door. Between the two of them, they managed to herd Shored's body back into the room without hurting him or touching the wounds on his arms. The horse-man settled into place at the door. It was clear that if Shored's body took it into its head to leave again, it was going to have to go through the horse-man. The Healer stood next to the horse-man, leaning against the wall to the horse-man's left. Julian had found his way to sit on the floor next to the horse-man, and both waited in an attitude of eternal patience. Gaelan merely picked his way through the splinters to Shored's side, and nuzzled his neck.

Shored's body recoiled and reached for the knife. The horse-man's eyes widened, and with a flick of his wrist, there was an intense burst of heat beyond Shored's fingertips, and the knife melted into a dull, quickly hardening puddle on the stone floor. Almost immediately, however, he winced and grabbed his head, pressing his fingers to his temples. Julian winced, and the Healer sighed and reached for the horse-man's forehead. Both men calmed down, and the Healer returned to his position on the wall.

:S_hored?_:

"Not Shored," his body growled.

:_Then who?_: Gaelan asked, dropping any pretenses of not being able to understand Empiric.

"Jaron."

:_You are not Shored._:

"Who is Shored?"

:_My __Chosen__. Who are you?_:

"Jaron. Where are the–"

:_Bandits? I rescued you from them. Don't you remember?_:

"No. I don't."

:_Always me, always __me._: the sing-song voice whispered.

:_Shored?_:

:_I can't remember either,_: Shored said.

Jaron-in-Shored's-body spun. "Who was that?"

:_Me?_: Shored asked, nervously.

"Where are you?" Jaron asked, voice still angry, but with a quavering note to it.

:_Almost free, almost free._:

:_In my body. Where are you?_:

"In _my_ body."

:_But you are in my body,_: Shored protested.

"This is my body! Look at it! _My_ scars, _my_ face, _my_ body!" Jaron cried, running his fingers down his arms. Then he stopped and looked down. "The hell?" he exclaimed, watching as 'his' scars elongated and disappeared and rearranged themselves into new, random patterns.

"What's wrong wifghthhhh," his voice became garbled and trailed off into nothing, and Shored had the distinct feeling that his body was empty–at least for the moment.

Then his physical voice started whispering.

"Free, free for nothing, oh, can you remember?" he whispered, sadness in his voice. "Running, always running, running on empty. . . running on empty. . ."

:_What do you mean?_: asked Gaelan warily.

"You don't remember Choosing me?" Shored's voice asked in a heartbroken tone. "But you said–you said you'd never leave me. You said you loved me."

'_But– he said that to _me!' Shored's mind wailed.

:_I did?_: the very confused Companion asked.

:_You did,_: Shored said. :_But you said it to _me:

"You said it to _me_!"

Jaron's voice joined the conversation with a shout. :Me:

":_I remember! You said, 'Shored/Jaron/Tenri, I Choose you. You will never be alone again! I love you and I will always love you.'_:" all three voices cried out simultaneously.

Baffled, Gaelan stared at the-body-now-controlled-by-Tenri, and the other two boys that were staring at him from behind Tenri's violet eyes.

:_Shored? Jaron? Tenri? I only Chose one of you. . . I Chose. . . ._:

"Who did you Choose?" asked Julian, quietly.

:_I can't remember,_: Gaelan said plaintively.

"You can't _remember?_" Jaron said incredulously, using Shored's voice. The burns reappeared. "Great. Not only do I have a Companion who makes me have other people appear in my head, I have one with selective memory."

:_I meant I can't remember Choosing one of you specifically. I know I Chose, but I think I Chose all of you at once._:

The body gave him a deadpan look, and drawled, "No, you think?"

:_Let's just try to figure this out. Shored, you've already told me what you can remember, so you're off the hook– for now. Jaron, it's your turn. What can you remember?_:

"You don't want to know."

:_Yes, I do. I need to know._:

"No you don't."

:_. . . Fine. Then tell me this: did you put someone's soul into that purple stone around your neck?_:

Jaron went rigid with shock. "How do you know that?" he whispered, fear tingeing his voice.

:_The King of Hardorn's soul is in that stone. He needs it back or he will die._:

Still rigid, Jaron asked, "Why should I care about some stupid King? I only did it 'cause They made me. But then, you don't know what else they did."

:_What else did they do?_: Shored asked curiously.

"You're just a little boy," Jaron snapped. "If I told you, you'd say I was lying."

:_Tell him,_: Tenri urged.

Without warning, the world disappeared.

_So long ago, as a child. He was four– it was his birthday. Trust came with love came with pain, from and for the man that stood over him with a perverted gleam in his eyes. _

_"Hush, baby, everything's going to be all right. Da's going to make you feel good. Hush, hush." His mother was down at the Baker's shop with Kirt, buying a cake for tonight. They weren't well-off by any means, but they had enough to buy cakes for birthdays and a small toy for Shored and another toy for Kirt at Midwinters. _

_"Hush, baby, everything's going to be fine. Does that feel good?" _

_His father touched him between his legs, and forced him to touch. . . touch what he knew was wrong_–_ was bad. Ripped his clothes off, the ripping noises that his best clothes made as they tore. The pain and the bruises that came when his father shoved him onto the chair, bent him over, and. . ._ the memory faded, and Jaron skipped them over the rest of that scene, and in some instinctual way, Shored was thankful.

_The pleading. "No, no, please, no, Da, _no–

_Beatings that occurred at night, after more of _That_. The threats, that if Shored ever told anyone, his father would do it to Nipal, his baby sister. _

_Awareness. The pain as something slammed into his nether regions, and pain along his upper arms as something gripped them and formed bruises. _

_Awareness of another boy, hiding behind walls of stone and diamond, impenetrable, leaving him to deal with _This

_That boy who made himself Go Away during the rapings, and forced himself to Not Remember any of it; to pretend it had happened to someone else. _

_The new boy saw what he was doing, and forced himself to Not See what was happening, to lock it behind his eyes, to Not Always Know what that man did. He never knew anything happy, for whenever he was given a toy, or a present, or a gift of any kind, That Boy would come and steal it, making the new boy sleep, until he was tired of it, and the new boy could come back out. Most of the time, he was in control. He chose a name, to be different from That Boy, and he chose Jarod. He got older, and older, and Rinal became more sloppy at hiding what he was doing, until Kirt began to suspect that Rinal was doing things to Shored at night. He confronted their father about it– and Nipal vanished the next day. Hey body was found a few days later, lying in a ditch. She had been violated, over and over, until her body couldn't take it any more, and then she had been thrown away like so much garbage. The boy that knew only anger and pain Went Away, then, for years, Not Remembering that he had even _had_ a baby sister, and then when Nikka came, she was his first sister. He only came when Rinal wanted It, and Slept the rest of the Time. _

_A Newer Boy lived during those times. His name was_–

Tenri crowed with glee. :_See? See? See what you missed?_:

:_I don't understand,_: Shored said.

"Please, I don't want to see any more of that, I don't want to make him see any more of it," Jaron pleaded. "When I came back, it was gone. It was all gone!"

:_Show now, show now,_: Tenri said.

Shored found himself falling again, and landed on his feet in a maelstrom of fire.

_His house was burning! He was in the kitchen, and the beams of the ceiling were falling all around him. He had to find his parents and Nikka and Kirt– had to get out! He looked through the flying embers and decided to check in the barn– maybe they'd gotten out already! Instead, his body ran through the flaming doorway toward the stairs– where the fire hadn't gotten yet– then up them. He found his mother, with Nikka in her arms, at the top of the stairs. Both weren't breathing, and Shored knew there was no hope of reviving them, even had there been a chance to get them out of the house. _

:They're dead:_ Tenri said flatly._

They're dead– all my fault,_' he heard. Then he ran back downstairs to check the barn for his father and Kirt. Surely– surely they had gotten out, right? _

_He launched himself out through the disintegrating front door just as the threshold collapsed, sending him flying out into the blessedly cool air. He raced to the barn, praying to the Hundred Little Gods that he'd find his father and brother alive. His feet practically flew across the dusty ground, and he managed to keep an eye out for hobgoblins; those horrible creatures that appeared when the lights had gone out and the markets for food had vanished. He rounded the curve in the path that led to the barn, only to fall and skid on his face when something tripped him. _

_"Here's one!" a man's voice called, and Jaron looked up, fearing the worst: bandits. _

_Oh, if it had only been bandits! No; much worse: rogue soldiers. An entire Company of them, clearly having been on the run since the temporary collapse of the Empire some years before. A dark-skinned one grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him upright. _

_"I'll take this one," he grunted. Jaron looked around for some avenue of escape, only to find none; the soldiers were all around, some milling in confusion, but to Jaron's fear and disgust, many of the men were gripping girls and or boys by the arms or necks. None were older than nineteen, and some of the children were younger than Jaron himself; eleven. Two of the soldiers moved, and Shored spotted the bodies of several of the village men in a pile. One was his father, head nearly severed from a rough blow with a sword. Jaron gagged a the sight, and 'his' soldier cuffed him. "Quiet, now." he growled. _

_"Kirt!" he called, hoping desperately to hear his brother. Perhaps it would be a blessing if his brother were dead; Jaron knew what was going to happen to them. _

What was going to happen? Shored wondered.

_"I said shut it!" _

_"Little brother!" Kirt's voice rose over those of the shouting men and crying children. An arrow struck Jaron's soldier in the chest, and he fell on top of the boy. None of the other soldiers seemed to be aware of it, perhaps because several of the other soldiers that Shored could see were already touching and kissing their own captives. They _did _notice when a horse with a single rider appeared among them, and was found to be the source of multiple arrow wounds among the soldiers. The horse galloped straight towards Jaron, and the badly armored rider grabbed Jaron's outstretched arm, pulling him awkwardly up behind him without stopping. _

_"Kirt?" Jaron gasped, when he'd caught his breath somewhat. _

_The rider didn't answer. _

_"Kirt!" he shouted, and pulled at the rider's shoulder. His brother groaned, and as they burst free from the throng of men, Jaron's questing hands found an arrow protruding from his brother's chest. _

'_Kirt, no!_' Shored thought in horror.

_They managed to get to the small copse of trees on the riverbank near the house before Kirt fell off of the horse, dragging Jaron with him. The horse kept running in a blind terror and disappeared over the bank, falling into the river. When they landed, Jaron's brother fell on the arrow shaft, breaking it off and driving the head in deeper. Jaron bounced and wound up a little ways from Kirt. When he got his wind back, he crawled over to his brother, who was writhing on the soil. _

_"Kirt?" _

_"Little brother," Kirt gasped. "Run. They killed Father, and if they catch you, they'll_–_" Jaron placed a finger on his brother's lips. "Shh. I know." _

_"Nikka– and Mother?" Kirt asked. _

_Not willing to make his brother's death any harder, Jaron told him, "They're safe. Hiding in the caves below the river." _

_"Hide with them. Get away from here, get out of Altvar altogether," Kirt rasped. _

_"But brother–" _

_"No buts," Kirt said. "Just go! Quickly_–_ I hear them coming." _

_Jaron scrambled away toward the river. He'd almost made it to the cave when a soldier stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed him about the shoulders. _

_"Time's up, bitch," the soldier said. "You don't have a chance. Let's go back." _

_"Let go of me!" Jaron said, struggling to worm out of the larger man's grip. _

_The soldier tightened his grip, swung Jaron over his shoulder, and _carried _him back to the others, kicking and screaming. _

Shored found himself back in the room. The body–Jaron–was breathing heavily, and tears were standing in his eyes. "Enough for you?" he asked through clenched teeth.

:_Show them more,_: Tenri prodded.

_Jaron huddled in the tent flap that he'd been thrown at like so much baggage. He was frozen and nearly dead on his feet after the multi-day forced march from the village of Kartark_

_The man sleeping in the one pallet in the tent raised his head. "Gave me a new one, did they?" he mumbled sleepily. "Whatever. Come on, kid. Get in." _

_He raised a corner of his blanket and beckoned to Jaron. _

_The boy stared down at him warily. _

_"Kid, I'm probably not going to fuck you until tomorrow. I'm too tired right now, and you're making the tent cold. Either get in or go sleep with the real rapists." _

_Faced with that choice, Jaron hesitantly moved into the tent, letting the flap fall shut to shroud everything in the tent in darkness. _

_"Come _on_," the man said. Jaron followed the voice with his hands outstretched so he wouldn't run into the tent wall. A hand seized his wrist and dragged him down onto the pallet next to a warm body. The small blanket fell over them both, and Jaron edged back toward the edge of the pallet to get as far away from the soldier as possible. The man sighed and grabbed Jaron about the chest, dragging the boy back toward him. Jaron lay very still as the man_–_ whose name he _still_ didn't know_– _looped an arm around his waist and formed himself around the boy. Jaron was so confused_– _his family was dead, his home was gone, and he was in a strange place with men who wanted to rape him_– _who were already raping his friends and the only people he knew. _

_And now he was sleeping with the enemy. _

:_More._:

"He's just a kid!"

:_Let Gaelan see._:

:_Show us what you meant about the Soul-Stone,_: Gaelan said. Funny. It almost sounded like he was shaken.

"First you need to see this, in order to understand what came next," Jaron said bleakly.

_Jaron woke up in the dim light from the entrance to the tent. It looked like it was __midday__, and his new bedmate was nowhere to be found. _

_He sat on the pallet for the rest of that day, waiting for the inevitable. At twilight, the soldier stepped into the tent and stared at Jaron, seemingly surprised to see him. _

_"You_– _oh. Damn. I'd almost hoped you'd left." _

_Jaron studied the soldier, now framed in the light from the door. He was slight, as soldiers went; less than six feet tall, brown of hair and green of eye, with tanned, leathery skin and old armor worn over clothes somewhat in need of a mend. _

_There was a catcall from outside the tent. "Hey, Byrn, you gonna fuck him, or can I have him? Cap'n says you gotta, or someone else gets him. They're linin' up for your kid!"_

_"Busy with him now!" Byrn shouted back, and motioned at Jaron. Jaron stared at him, and Byrn mouthed, 'Scream.' Jaron nodded, and let out a wail, and Byrn grunted loudly. _

_There was a curse from outside the tent, and shuffling as the would-be rapist walked away. _

_Byrn rolled his eyes and grinned at Jaron. _

_Jaron looked at him, petrified that the man was going to rape him now. _

_"Hey_–_ I wasn't really serious about raping you, last night." _

_Jaron continued to stare at him. _

_Byrn sighed and started undoing the buckles and straps on his armor, laying it carefully in an open chest in the corner of the tent. Jaron flinched, but didn't move away, figuring that it was going to hurt more if he struggled. _

_"What's wrong with you?" Byrn asked, closing the lid on the chest. He was now clad only in trews, a shirt, boots, and his brigandine, with his sword buckled over that. _

_"We might as well get it over with, right?" Jaron asked dully. "After all, you want it, and I'd rather it was one person than fifty." _

_Byrn looked up at the roof of the tent. Without looking at Jaron, he sad, "Look, as much as I hate to admit it, you're right. I do have to take you." He walked toward the pallet, and Jaron scrambled off it to the other side of the tent. Without making any moves toward Jaron, Byrn sat down on the pallet. _

_"Kid, I can't promise this won't hurt_–_ but unlike those sadists out there, I can make it feel good for you. I'll be gentle, I promise. This goes against most of my morals_–_ I only take boys that are of age, but there is one thing I won't do. _I won't take the unwilling.

_Jaron eyed him. Byrn hadn't touched him so far, and he seemed like he wouldn't hurt Jaron. _

_He slowly walked toward the man, fear making a tight knot in his belly, and he was so tense he could barely walk. He stood in front of Byrn, who was staring at him with a mixture of sympathy and growing lust. But if this was the lesser of two evils. . . . _

_Because he had nowhere else to go, and because Byrn had promised to be gentle, and because it was so damned cold outside, he let Byrn pull him down onto the pallet._

Without any prodding from Tenri, Jaron took them into the next memory. Shored saw a flash of gray, a vista of trees, a bloodstained body, and incredible pain in his nether regions before Jaron pulled them abruptly out. Apparently this was a memory he did not want to remember.

"I stayed with them for two years," Jaron said. "Then they were called to finish the takeover of Hardorn, and I went with them. Six months before we reached Tolmassar, Byrn died in a skirmish, and I was given to the Fury Brothers, who raped me almost every night." That was said with no inflection in his voice whatsoever, and it almost sounded like Jaron was dead. "Then they were killed while fighting the Hardornens, and I managed to escape from the camp. But. . .

a mage found me wandering on the road, and used me." His voice was broken.

_The mage clamped the manacles around his wrists, and tugged at them to make sure that they weren't going to come out of the rock anytime soon. Jaron tried to struggle, but the mage slapped him and he stopped fighting. He'd been hauled off the road and into this stone tower that had appeared out of nowhere, and dragged into the middle of this stone pentacle that had been carved into the middle of the flagstone floor, and placed with his head at the junction of two arms and his legs spread as another point lanced out from between his legs. His arms were extended along two more arms, and stretched so far he could barely feel them. _

_"Soon," the mage murmured. "Then I can leave." _

_The man went absolutely still for a moment, and then grabbed a plain stone dagger off of the granite table and grabbed the pendant–a clear jewel–that had been hanging around his neck and advanced on Jaron. The boy struggled feebly–multiple days without food or water had weakened him to the point where he just wanted to die to end his stomach's constant assaults on his backbone. The mage knelt between Jaron's spread legs and opened his shirt. He placed the jewel on Jaron's chest and started chanting something, and Jaron couldn't move. He was paralyzed, somehow, unable to move. The mage moved the knife over Jaron's heart and lowered it– inscribed an X over the boy's heart, and placed the jewel at the crosspoint. The blood stained the jewel a dark red, and then the mage smiled. He chanted something else, and Jaron suddenly felt the pain of the cuts and tried to gasp. He felt Something Else surge into him with a rush, and looked down at the stone. It was now a deep purple, and seemed to glow with its own inner light. The mage smiled again and drove the dagger into the closing point of one of the manacles, breaking them both. _

_"The keys are there," he'd said, pointing at the wall, where a ring of keys hung on a bit of protruding stone. "Reach and you can get it." _

_Then he'd turned on his heel and left. Jaron hadn't seen him again. _

"Gaelan found me wandering on the road, and Chose me there."

:_Chosen_:

"There are three of us," Jaron murmured, and Shored felt something crack inside him. That sentence _meant_ something. He didn't know what, and he didn't understand why, but it was right.

_There are three of us._

:_Jaron?_: Gaelan asked tentatively.

"Huh?"

:_Can you put the soul back?_:

There was a long, long pause as Jaron considered.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Yes."

* * *

Notes: (I put this at the end so to avoid spoilers. If I'm wrong on this next part, someone pleasecorrect me.) Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly termed as Multiple Personality Disorder, and commonly mis-termed as Schizophrenia, (when you're Schizophrenic, you just hear voices,) is _not_ exactly what Shored has. DID can not be turned on and off at will, and the 'personalities' will not just 'wake up' and say, "Hi, I'm so-and-so." DID can be formed by many reasons; a slightly common one would be someone having been put through extreme repeated trauma as a very young child. Here is an example. Steven is three years old and is beaten by his mother every night or every other night. Being young, his mind cannot handle the stress and creates someone to deal with it. Let's call this personality John. John comes out whenever Steven sees his mother in a rage, and thus protects Steven from being beaten, at a cost to himself. John's identity, as such, is fragmented, and he only experiences pain from the hands of his mother, and rage at everything from his treatment, since those are the only things that have ever happened to him. All he is is pain and rage. Now we'll throw in an event or a catalyst to create someone else. Steven's father dies, leaving him with extreme emotional pain at the loss of his father and the loss of the one person who could protect him from his mother. Then his sister dies, and then his brother. Steven cannot handle this emotional overload of losing everything he loves, so _poof!_ out comes Mark. Mark is always sad, since everyone he knows has died. Steven is now a fragmented person. Whenever he begins to experience rage or pain, John comes out to play, and whenever Steven loses a friend, someone he knows dies, he remembers his mother/brother/sister's death, or he begins to feel immense sadness, Mark shows up. None of these personalities really have names, as such, unless they realize themselves as individuals and name themselves. 

My point is this: Shored has my own personal version of DID.

For more information on Dissociative Identity Disorder, as well as an introspective look on child abuse, try reading _When Rabbit Howls, by the Troops for Truddi Chase_.

If any of you'd like to know, and so this clears up any misconception as to who has what Gift, all three boys have Mindspeech. Shored also has Foresight, Jaron also has the Mage-Gift, and Tenri also has Fetching.


	25. What You Know And I Don't

Has anyone noticed the recent drop in Valdemar fics? I don't know whether to attribute that to the recent release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and the fact that a lot of authors have quite possibly #coughs# _abandoned _#coughs# this section for that of The Boy Who Would Not Die.

Captain Kurt Hoffman: I understand that it's polite to refer to the Presidency and most political positions with respect, and I did have respect for him. I really did, even though I was voting for Kerry. But I figured, hey, his dad was an okay president. What could go wrong? Respect goes up to a certain point. He crossed the point of no return when he invaded Iraq on little grounds with no evidence and put America into a war we can't get out of.

Shadowfax: Speculation and the fact that once I realized that this was going to involve a lot of Empire, I went back to the Storms books and read them obsessively until I could almost quote word for word everything that was going on in the Empire. And there's always that wonderful book called The Valdemar Companion, which has a bunch of nicely rendered maps, which, if you rip them (carefully) out of the book, scan them, and then match up the edges (down to the words that were split in the middle), you get a nice, big map of Valdemar and pretty much every other country ever mentioned, except for the Haighlei Empire and White Gryphon. Oh, and Predain. (But don't take anything in this story as canonical. I put my own twist on some stuff, and I can't exactly quote what's canon and what's not unless you ask me specifically and I think really hard about it.)

Thanks to: TastuKitty, Moonjava, and Fireblade K'Chona. And my lord and master, Mischa Kitsune.

**Notes:** I'm going to try for a chapter without quotation marks around '_thoughts_,' and I'd like your input on if it's more or less confusing than with them. Ms. Lackey goes without, but I don't know if my writing would be more or less confusing.

And if anyone can spot the legendary reference here, you get a cookie.

**Warnings: **This chapter contains . . .um . . . child seduction. Just thought I'd warn you. If you object to that sort of thing, you don't have to read. It only does stuff for the Romance part of the story, so I guess you can skip it. Believe me, I was horrified when I wrote it.

* * *

Under the winter moon's pale light,  
across the cold and starry night,  
from snowy mountains soaring high  
to ocean shores echoes the cry.  
From barren sands to verdant fields,  
from city street to lonely wealds,  
cries the tortured human heart,  
seeking solace, wisdom, a chart  
by which to understand its plight  
under the winter moon's pale light.  
Dawn is unable to fade the night.  
Must we live ever in the blight  
under the winter moon's cold light,  
lost in loneliness, hate, and fright,  
last night, tonight, tomorrow night  
under the winter moon's bleak light?

_The Book of Counted Sorrows_

**Chapter 25: What You Know and I Don't**

Jaron held his hands palm-down above Tremane's forehead, jewel nestled in the space between his forefingers and thumbs. Wary guards watched from the corners of the room and Rowen watched from the door as the jewel briefly glowed very bright, chasing away the shadows in the room and heightening the pallor of the dying King's face, and then it faded, leaving the room shrouded in darkness again. Rowen looked at Tremane's face; he seemed to have a bit more color in his cheeks now, and when the Healer standing on the other side of the bed pried open one of the comatose man's eyelids, there was a depth there that had previously been absent.

_He did it,_ Rowen thought triumphantly as the Healer's face blossomed into a grin, and he beckoned the head mage forth so they could begin feeding Tremane.

The boy just stood there, watching the Healers and mages swarm around the King. He looked very, very tired suddenly, and the jewel dangled limply on its chain, his lax fingers being the only thing keeping it from slipping from his grasp onto the wood floor.

Cautiously, Rowen walked forward and leaned down. "Er—Jaron, are you alright?"

It wasn't Jaron that responded, however.

Tenri's sing-song tone answered him, and his violet eyes looked ebullient but fatigued. "Jaron not here," he piped up in broken Valdemaran. "I, though. He left body to me. To me. All to me." He smiled, and reached up to tug at Rowen's hand. "We go somewhere?" he asked casually.

"Where?" Rowen asked.

"You room?" asked the boy. "I very lonely. Very lonely. We go your room now, yes?"

"Yes," Rowen said, wondering why he felt like that was a bad idea.

§

Once they were back in his quarters, and Tenri had taken his boots off, he ran over and jumped on the unused bed, bouncing up and down. When he looked back at Rowen—apparently to see why the Changechild wasn't joining him—the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. He abandoned the childlike pretenses and shoved himself back off the bed, onto the floor, where he sat for a moment, apparently thinking while he absently fiddled with his shirt laces, seemingly unaware that he was unlacing it. Then he slowly rose up, infinitely more graceful than he had been before. He put each foot down consideringly–seductively, and moved with ponderous slowness across the room to where Rowen was lying down.

The Changechild didn't think it was his imagination that Tenri's hands were brushing back and forth ever so slightly across his hips as he walked. Tenri stopped just in front of Rowen so that he was standing nearly flush with his torso and looking up at the Shin'a'in; even lying down with his legs folded under him, Rowen was at least a head or two taller than the boy. Violet eyes looked almost sultry as they glanced up from under lowered black eyelashes at Rowen, and the boy abandoned all pretense of _being_ a boy.

"I very lonely," he purred, reaching one small hand up to place it on Rowen's bare shoulder.

Tenri's palm felt very warm and moist on Rowen's deltoid, and the boy's mouth was parted _just so_, and his lips glistened. Just as Rowen started to understand what the boy was about, his hand tightened on Rowen's shoulder and his other hand reached up and dragged Rowen's unresisting head down.

Tiny lips touched his own, the hand that had been on his shoulder slid down to his bare waist, and Tenri's breath was ragged against the Changechild's shut lips before Rowen realized _exactly _what the boy wanted and nearly sent him flying across the room.

Still shocked, he dragged his wrist across his mouth, trying to rub away the blatantly sexual gesture that the who-knew-how-old boy had made. From where he had been thrown across the floor, Tenri raised his head and glared hard at Rowen once before the accusing stare faded to be replaced by one of bemused shock from Jaron.

"What did you _do_?" he hissed in nearly perfect Hardornen. "I heard a wail from one of Them, and then I looked out through the eyes to find you pressed up against me—_us _like that, and then you threw us across the floor—what the hell do you think you are _doing_, horse-man?"

There was an agitated whinny from the other side of the door, and Rowen shakily rose and opened the door to let Gaelan in.

:_Changechild—_: the Companion's Mindvoice was a mixture of accusation and apology as he regally stalked toward Jaron, who was still glaring daggers at Rowen. :_I am sorry for my __Chosen__'s behavior, but did you have to _throw_ him like that?_:

Unrepentant, Rowen glared at the Companion. "I think you would panic too if a ten year old boy just tried to make a sexual overture that he shouldn't even know _exists_ on you. He's _your_ Chosen, sir. Why did he just do that?"

Gaelan sounded hesitant. :_I do not know. I can only assume that all of the sexual abuse that has been heaped upon him has warped his view of what is appropriate behavior and what is not._:

There was a flash of lust in Jaron's eyes that was _definitely _Tenri, and Gaelan whuffled.

:_Lust is not a good thing in a ten-year-old. Especially not lust for someone who is probably incapable of intercourse._:

Rowen bristled at the offhand comment but refrained from making an acerbic reply about idiot Groveborn Companions not knowing who they're Choosing. Respect for Companions was one thing. Respect for Companions who Choose a seemingly normal child who turns out to be a toddler, a nymphomaniac _and _a psychotic mage was another. Especially when the nymphomaniac part just tried to proposition you.

"Oh," Jaron said out loud after having gone into a 'listening' pose. "Sorry, horse-man. I didn't know Tenri was that . . . disturbed."

"It's all right," Rowen said. "Just please—don't let him do it again. It was . . . disturbing, to say the least."

:_He blocked me out. There wasn't much I could do except try to figure out what he was doing from the emotions I was receiving. He can only block direct thoughts, and when I felt the lust, I knew I had to come,_: said Gaelan. :_You could have rejected him a bit easier, though._:

Annoyed, Rowen retorted with, "It's wrong to do that with any child. I was merely reacting the way any adult would if a child tried to initiate intercourse with them. And I've got no impulses of that sort whatsoever, so the point of a physical or romantic relationship is moot."

Gaelan abruptly made a choking noise, and Rowen looked over at him curiously. "Don't mock me, horse. There is no point to a relationship with me, since you'll never get anything out of it." Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to Rowen. "Y-you aren't considering me as—"

Now it was Jaron's turn to choke, and Rowen glared at the wall. "No, sir. Not happening, sorry."

:_That's not what that noise was for,_: said Gaelan in an aggrieved tone. :_I just realized that you were—oh. You _don't_ know._:

Interested in this unnamed thing that could make a Companion choke, Rowen asked, "Know what?"

:_I don't suppose you'd forget I said anything,_: Gaelan offered.

"No, I wouldn't." His curiosity was up now, and he wanted to know what _it _was.

Gaelan sighed. :_All I can say is that you should ask the Bard._:

"Julian?"

:_Yes. But before you do, I want you to do some soul searching._:

"Why?"

:_Just trust me; you're going to need it._:

§

Rowen stared blankly at the retreating night sky and the dimming stars. More than a year ago in the Pelagirs Forest southeast of Valdemar, he'd tried to uncover some divine meaning in their placement but had found none.

Now they were pulling the same trick, and he wasn't happy. What exactly was he supposed to be soul searching _for_? He'd deduced that it had to do with Julian, since Gaelan had said to ask him about it, but so far he hadn't come up with any obvious answers. He'd come up here sometime during the night, and now it was dawn–he had no more answers.

What could Julian know that he didn't? It couldn't be the fact that the Bard was shaych–Rowen had deduced _that _from some comments he'd overheard from various people around Valdemar and the fact that Julian had never mentioned a lover of any sort; Bards were supposed to be promiscuous, and a Bard without any known lover was either a eunuch–which Julian was not–or someone who didn't want to draw attention to their lovers. Despite a recent rise in publicly shaych couples, many people were still leery of men or women that were _shay'a'chern_, and Julian was exactly the kind of person who wouldn't want to be singled out. It might seem like a long-winded suspicion, but Rowen was certain it would hold water.

So it couldn't be that Julian was shaych. . . .

He glared back out at the sky. Night wasn't gone yet–far from it; there was only a bare lightening of the east, and dawn was a long ways off. Rowen sighed and leaned his arms on the battlements. There had to be _something_!

A scuff of boot on stone behind him alerted him to a presence, and he knew without turning that it was the subject of his confusion.

He turned.

"Julian, would you happen to know what, exactly it is that you know and I don't?"

* * *

A comment and probably a FWQ (Frequently Wondered Question): Originally I was going to end it at the point where Gaelan told Rowen he was gonna have to do some soul searching, but then I figured that it would look kind of stupid if the only point of the chapter was for Rowen to refuse the advances of a ten year old boy, even if all of his ages combined make him older than Rowen is. (Which he's not. The max age of the body is like 13-14. Some experiences are just shared out, which explains why Shored is like five, Jaron is twelvish, and Tenri is ten (no pun in_ten_ded).

. . . I just thought of something. How interesting would it be if Shored/Jaron/Tenri turned out to be the reincarnated Stefan/Tylendel/Vanyel? Ooh. I sense a future AU fanfic of a fanfic.


	26. Tear Me Off a Piece of Blanket

Alright. I've heard rumors that authors aren't allowed to reply to reviewers anymore. Can anyone verify this?

Thanks to Moonjava, Fireblade K'Chona, TatsuKitty, (is it just me, or does the spelling of your name keep changing from TastuKitty to TatsuKitty?) and Shadowfax. Another thanks to MischaKitsune, who betaed this when I first wrote it. (A while back. Like two chapters ago)

**Shameless plug: **If anyone likes stories about romance and fantasy in an urban setting, read A Broken Violin. I know it's in the ML section as a Bedlam's Bard fic, but it really has nothing to do with BB except for a few passing references to the elves involved in that universe.

* * *

Tear me off a piece of blanket  
Keep me warm and we can make it  
Here's my heart, I'll let you break it  
Touched your skin and I can't take it

_-Yellowcard "October Nights"_

**Chapter 26: Tear Me Off a Piece of Blanket**

"Rowen."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we're going to die?"

"I don't know," the Changechild replied vaguely. "We might."

Julian peered back out through the bars of the prison-wagon that was rolling through the Empire's main camp. Thousands of tents spread out in rows from the road that threaded through the camp, out into the distance and beyond, farther than the eye could see. If the Valdemaran army was comprised of thousands of men and women, the Empiric army must have been almost a half-million strong. And they were all men.

"Can we do this?"

"I- yes. We can." Rowen gave him an unreadable glance and turned back to looking worriedly at Shored and Gaelan. Both were unconscious in the back of the wagon, and had been ever since the Empire's mages had captured them and what passed for a mentor–Shensa and Lihandra. They'd been out having equitation lessons in an empty field some distance from Shonar and the castle, and hadn't been able to call for help.

Julian and Rowen had been "caught" later, in a calculated attempt to rescue them that had two endings. The first–that they could rescue all four captured Valdemarans. If they couldn't, they would let themselves be captured and break out later. There had been no company of guards or mages with them; all spare fighters and mages had been sent to the front lines to counter the Empire's newest assault. Julian and Rowen were the only ones who were ready and available volunteers. Unfortunately, the Changechild and the Bard had gotten themselves caught inbetween the two outcomes; they'd been able to find the sleep-dart and pull it out of Lihandra's neck so she could get her Chosen out of the immediate area and to safety, but there was no dart holding Gaelan captive–instead a very strong magic held the Groveborn, originating from a long, outward-pointing iron spike that had been affixed to his forehead above and between his eyes. Julian had been grabbed by soldiers to be used as a hostage, and Rowen, unwilling to see his friend hurt, had surrendered. Both had been stripped of their weapons, and now they, the Groveborn and the multi-personalitied Empiric boy were in a prison wagon, heading for Melles' tent in the camp after what seemed like weeks of traveling.

They'd passed the front lines and skirted around them to avoid the Allied troops and the battle itself, much to Julian's dismay. If they'd been able to break out then, they'd almost certainly have made it to safety. Without a way to wake Gaelan up, though, it was useless, and Rowen didn't want to reveal his trump card just yet, which Julian understood. The guards didn't know that he was an Empath, which was useful in making sure Shored and Gaelan were alright, even though they were both bespelled.

The wagon rolled over a bump and sent dust clouding into the air, and Julian blinked dust out of his eyes. His eyes. He could see again, but it seemed like a poor reward for being caught. The mages had repaired his eyes- actually, given him new ones from a still-living and aware mercenary from a Hardorn-hired company called Bornam's Bastards. He hadn't understood why, until a leering mage had leaned down to whisper into his ear. "It's so that when the Emperor tortures your lifebonded partner, you can see what happens to him, even after we burn away that part of your brain. The power that will come to him while one of you is in pain and the other one can't do a thing about it—there are times when I wish I were him, especially when he takes your eyes away again, one by one." He'd sneered, and Julian had felt cold terror seep into his bones. They would kill him and Rowen, and the Changechild wouldn't even know why.

Such a bleak reward for their deaths. "I'm sorry," he said quietly to the Shin'a'in.

"For?"

"Getting us into this mess."

"Julian, how many times do I have to tell you not to be sorry? It could have happened to anyone- even Herald-Captain Kerowyn."

"I know, but I still-"

"Stop. You. Are. Not. To. Blame."

Julian subsided into silence for a while.

"What do we do when we get there?"

Rowen seemed about to say something, then faltered. "I. . ."

"You have a plan, don't you?"

Almost a whisper. "Yes."

"And you don't think I'm going to like it, do you?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"It would be better if you didn't know. Not until after, when you're free."

Sadness flowed down the bond between them, and Julian almost cried out with heartache, but kept it to a whisper.

"Rowen. . ."

The other man sounded subdued. "I only have one clue for you: Firestorm."

"No," Julian said, knowing immediately what he meant. Kamikaze attack. Suicide. "Rowen, you can't do that."

"Why? I could buy us peace on the eastern front once and for all- just for the sacrifice of one man who isn't even human."

"You'll die!"

"I know." Rowen gave him a slightly twisted smile. "But I've come to the conclusion that I'm expendable. The Heralds don't need me. I don't fit in among the Shin'a'in, and Nadar can live with Sa'heera and Clopin in Kata'shin'a'in if he wants to." He paused, and it looked as though he was struggling with something.

"And me?" Julian asked bitterly. "What do I do when you're gone?"

Rowen didn't answer.

"What do I do, oh expendable one, when my best friend dies? What do I do when he commits suicide just because he thinks it will work, and no one will miss him?"

'_What do I do when the man I love kills himself? What do I do when he's my lifebonded?_'

The Changechild wouldn't look at him.

Julian repeated himself softly. "What do I do?"

"I-" an answer died on Rowen's lips.

The Bard slid across the rough floor of the wagon, ignoring the stares of the soldiers that were clearly afraid of the boggle.

"Rowen, tell me what I'm supposed to do if you die. You're all I have," he said pleadingly.

"You have–friends," Rowen said in a choked voice. "When Shored gets out of here, go with him. You have friends among the—"

"No." Julian lifted his face to stare the kneeling centaur in the eyes.

Rowen frowned, puzzled. "What—"

"I'll stay."

Comprehension dawned, and Rowen's look of puzzlement turned to one of horror. "Julian–no. I won't let you die here with me."

Julian was proud that his voice trembled only a little bit. "And I won't let you die here in this godforsaken wasteland. Whatever happens– I'm not going to let you die alone."

"Julian, _no!_"

"Yes. Where you go, I go. If you die, I die." '_Literally._'

"Julian. . ."

Rowen might have said more, were it not for the guards that began banging their swords against the bars of the prison wagon. "We are here. All out," one said in halting Valdemaran.

With little care, the guards hauled the limp bodies of Shored and Gaelan out of the wagon. Rowen and Julian followed, landing on the ground ungracefully, muscles unused to being stretched after so many days of being cooped up in the wagon, save for when they were allowed out to relieve themselves.

A guard prodded Julian in much better Valdemaran than his cohort. "On your feet."

He lurched to his feet, hanging unsteadily off of Rowen's offered arm.

"Do you know what's keeping them asleep?" he asked the Changechild out of the side of his mouth.

"I think it's one of the mages. If I can kill him, I think the spell will wear off. I don't know what good it will do since we're in the middle of an enemy camp, but if I can kill the mage before I unleash the firestorm, they'll have a chance to escape in the confusion. Go with them."

"I already told you, Rowen. My place is by your side." '_Even if it means dying. I would follow you to Hell and back._'

"But–"

"No."

"Then so be it. We die together."

'_Even if I never got to tell you I loved you,_' Julian thought wistfully, and looked back out at the deepening twilight over the rapidly approaching keep.

§

A pair of guards flanked the large doors at the end of the cold stone hallway. Rowen's hooves clapped on the tiles, echoed into the high ceilings and disappeared among what looked like ancient, captured weaponry hanging from the ceiling, only to reappear as phantoms, echoing back at them in long, drawn-out syllables.

A shushing noise followed them as more of the guards dragged the prone forms of Gaelan and Shored behind them, making no indication that the boy and the stallion were a burden.

The guards escorting them didn't look at them; didn't look anywhere but straight ahead at the doors, and Julian felt fear snake into him for the first time since they'd entered the newly-captured castle on the edge of Hardorn. If the guards were this well trained. . . what chance did they have to assassinate the Emperor _and_ take out a huge chunk of the surrounding army?

The doors opened. Darkness lay on the other side. Julian tried to see through it with his new eyes, but everything was shrouded in gloom.

"Can you-" he tried to ask Rowen if he could see anything, but a guard noticed and used a short stick made of ironwood to hit Julian on the side of the head.

"Quiet!" he barked.

Julian nodded in acquiescence, and the cavalcade continued walking down the silent hallway until they passed through the doors and into complete darkness.

No noise pierced the shadows, but it felt like the room was crowded. Julian extended his Empathy into the familiar darkness and felt–people! Dozens–no, scores of silent people, inches from him. He extended an arm, assuming that the guard couldn't see it, and was rewarded by the sensation of cloth under his fingertips as he brushed past one of the unseen observers. Reaching farther on the next pass, he touched bare skin and drew a gasp from his victim and growls from the guards. He withdrew his hand to his side, tightening his fingers in the grimy scarlet cloth that was his shirt.

Suddenly they stopped short, and Julian stumbled and almost lost his balance. Rowen grabbed him by the shoulder and righted him, keeping the hand tight on Julian's shoulder even when the Bard was standing on his own again.

A voice came out of the darkness before them, and it was one of the most evil voices that Julian had ever heard. Smooth but laced with cruelty, this voice could melt stone and send the strongest man to his knees, begging for mercy.

"The Valdemarans approach," he said mockingly in unaccented Valdemaran, into the heavy silence that permeated the room.

"Melles, I presume?" Julian asked, knowing that the man who hid in the darkness could only be Tremane's arch-nemesis, the new leader of the Empire, and their target.

"_Emperor_ Melles," the voice corrected with an obvious air of boredom. Apparently he was prepared to play a game of words.

"I'm sorry, was that scullion Melles?" Rowen asked, a hint of taunting in his voice.

"Emperor Melles," the Emperor said. He sounded slightly annoyed now.

"Bedslave Melles?" Julian asked. If they were going to die, they were going to do it with style. Getting back some of their own wouldn't be so difficult, and it might make Julian feel a bit braver.

"Kadessa Melles?"

"_Laputa_ Melles?" asked Rowen, using the Velvaric term for 'diseased whore.'

"Emperor Melles!" Melles yelled, and the vague figure of a man appeared before them, outlined in faint, sickly yellow.

"Right, right, _Emperor _Melles," Rowen muttered, and said Emperor disappeared into the darkness again.

"Have you anything to say before We sentence you?" he asked, haughty again.

"One question," Rowen said, tightening his grip on Julian's shoulder, and Julian knew that it was almost time.

Time to die.

"Yes?" the Emperor drawled.

"When you were conceived, was your mother just sleeping with the sheep, or was she committing adultery when she slept with the donkeys?"

"When they made you, they broke the mold. Then they dragged the moldmaker into the street and stabbed him. Repeatedly," Julian quipped.

Melles roared inarticulately and a nimbus of red fire outlined him again.

"Not yet," Rowen growled, and the room began to burn. The darkness was chased away by the orange roaring of flames to reveal running shadows and burning tapestries on the stone walls. Julian grabbed Rowen's arm and pointed out a mage that was running for the door; he had a particular look of concentration on his face and a Feel that told Julian that he was the mage that was keeping Gaelan under such a careful lock and key. Julian pointed at him, and the man went up in flames. A few seconds passed in which they looked vainly about for more mages, or more importantly, Melles, then Gaelan surged up off the floor, eyes glowing red. Julian didn't think it was a reflection of the surrounding flames.

:_Where is Shored?_: he growled. :_We must leave. Now._:

"Here." Rowen heaved Shored up into Gaelan's saddle and strapped him in. "Now go."

:_You aren't coming?_:

"No. We will deal with Melles. Remember the Firestorms," Rowen urged him. What passed for the stallion's eyebrows creased, and Julian would have sworn that the Companion had frowned.

:_I understand. Good luck._:

"And you."

:_Valdemar will sing your praises. Goodbye, Singer and Warrior._:

With that, he turned and bolted from the burning room, hooves nearly skidding on the tile floor until they found purchase on the rougher stone of the hallway.

"Think they'll get away?"

"They might."

The room burned hotter, and they found an exit in a passageway behind a burned tapestry. It was a tight squeeze for Rowen, but he made it through and up the long flight of stairs that led who-knew-where.

They found out where when they found themselves in a dead end, but the stairs led into the ceiling.

"Are you thinking—" Julian began, but was interrupted when Rowen started twisting around and braced his forelegs on the stairs and his arms on the walls.

From this precarious position, he kicked up with his hind legs. The false ceiling shattered and collapsed into a pile of rubble around them. Julian looked up and saw clean, clear sky, with thousands of stars.

"Let's go." Julian grabbed Rowen's hand and dragged him up and out of the stairwell and across the weathered stone to the parapets.

Far below, past the outer walls, a white horse was visible, dodging men and fallen tents, skillfully making its way out of the camp to freedom. It disappeared into the distance, but Julian followed it for a long while after that with his Empathy.

:_We are away._:

After a time, he looked up at Rowen. "They made it."

"Good," Rowen said forcefully, and smiled, but Julian could tell it was fake. "I. . ." he trailed off, looking uncertain.

"I know, Rowen. Any time you're ready we can give our countries peace."

The Changechild nodded and closed his eyes. A long moment passed, and Julian saw two tears slip out from under his closed lashes and fall freely down his bronze face. Rowen opened his emerald green eyes and gave Julian a sad smile, and the Bard knew that Rowen was saying goodbye to the family and friends that he'd lost a long time ago, but had regained. Now he was saying goodbye to them a second time, and Julian knew that it was harder than the first.

He waited patiently for the Changechild to finish, and said some farewells of his own.

'_Masaan. . . I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to be. Rojer. . . oh, my brother, I hope you've learned to open your heart, and I'm sorry that I never saw you again. Father. . . I know I was never what you wanted, but please, please forgive me. I love you all. . . Goodbye._'

A slight tap on the shoulder was all he needed. He looked up into Rowen's understanding eyes, and smiled at what he found there.

"I'm ready."

Across the roof of the keep, there was a small explosion. Bricks and mortar either collapsed inward or went flying as blood magic destroyed the ceiling of a second hidden staircase.

A horribly burned figure arose from the rubble, and a dark aura flared around him, identifying him as Melles.

The mage glared at them from the ruins of his face. His formerly immaculate silk robes fluttered around him in tatters, what could be seen of his arms and face was red and blistered, and his skin was charred black in places.

"I should have killed you when you began insulting me," he rasped. "I shall not make that mistake again. Now die!"

He began chanting, and dark clouds began to gather over the castle, obscuring the night sky.

"Death is not an end. Merely a step in a new direction," Julian quoted from an old novel. He couldn't remember the title.

"Yes. And we will take that step together."

Julian grabbed Rowen's hand and squeezed it one last time, regretting that he dared not tell the Changechild of his feelings. Then he sent a burst of pain, rage, and fear straight at Melles.

While the Emperor was still reeling from that attack, Rowen took a moment to squeeze Julian's hand back, and lace their fingers together.

Across the flagstones, a reeking figure arose, dripping fluid and slabs of skin. It tried to speak, but no sound would come out of its mouth. Rowen stared at the horrifying figure, looked back at Julian, and smiled.

"Goodbye."

And the world disappeared in flames.

§

"Nooooooo!" Julian bolted upright in bed, sweating. A dream. It had all been a dream. He slumped forward, panting, and dropped his head into his waiting hands. It had seemed so real, though, and vivid. And he had been able to see. See the Groveborn stallion, see the sky, see Rowen. The Shin'a'in had seemed so real, and when he'd looked Julian in the eyes for the first time. . . a shiver went up Julian's spine at the remembered contact.

'_Green fire. I remember, his eyes crackled with green fire. His hair was like a fall of rain in the night, and his face. . . like the face of a god. It was the same as any other Shin'a'in I've seen, but it was Rowen, and all the more special, somehow. _'

He closed his eyes at the remembered heartbreak, when he couldn't tell Rowen that he loved him, and closed his lips against the keen that was trying to force its way out of his throat.

The loneliness that he'd managed to hold at bay for nearly a decade finally broke his barriers, and he curled up into a ball and fought the wail of misery and despair that threatened to tear its way out of his chest.

'_I love him,_' Julian thought. '_I really do love him. Ah, _Gods!' He'd hoped that it had been a fleeting infatuation brought on by the knowledge of the lifebond; after all, who didn't want to love someone they were lifebonded with? But the fleeting thoughts about the Shin'a'in . . . his stomach did acrobatic tricks when they were together just enjoying each other's company. His heart seemed to give a little leap every time he heard Rowen's voice after being bereft of it for only an hour or two. Not only would it double its pace when he was close to the Changechild; it seemed to thump sideways. When he thought about anyone else, he felt a mixture of shame and disgust for ever even doing _that_. A bad day could be soothed away by a mere moment in Rowen's presence, or a word of praise. It could have been the lifebond, but Julian didn't think so. Back in Valdemar . . . he'd been approached by one or two ex-lovers, but either time they'd attempted to initiate amorous encounters, he'd found himself thinking of a dark-haired man with bronze skin and green eyes. A man who he'd never truly seen.

He couldn't tell Rowen; the knowledge of the lifebond would disgust the Shin'a'in, and even though the Shin'a'in weren't hostile towards shaych people, there was no telling how Rowen would react to being told that he was lifebonded to a shaych male who was attracted to him.

But everything that he'd seen so far indicated that Rowen had no interest toward females whatsoever. Even Sa'heera, who was as beautiful as she was intelligent, at least by Shin'a'in standards, had evidently never found herself at the end of any attraction from Rowen.

And. . . . even if Rowen couldn't return the feelings, just to know that he knew would take a great weight off of Julian's chest. It might change the friendship between them, but this half-lie and all the skidding around subjects that would give away the fact that Julian was shaych was putting too much pressure on the Bard.

He raised a hand and traced the tear scar on his cheek, almost like it was a reassurance. It wasn't. He was suddenly stricken with a horrifying thought. _What if Rowen found the scars ugly?_

'_He won't. He's your best friend, and he already coached you that they _aren't_ ugly and that the scars are attractive, in a way. _'

It didn't give him much hope, but it was a start.

He'd gotten enough sleep, and decided to take a walk to clear his mind. Tomorrow. He would find Rowen tomorrow, bring him to a secluded place, and tell him. Hopefully Rowen wouldn't break his heart.

'_To know that he knew. . . would be better than never telling him at all, for to die without him knowing. . . is lonelier than the death he wanted._'


	27. I'd Give It All For You

Heh. I typed this chapter up on my new laptop. . And his name is Squee.

I don't think there will be very many chapters after this. Maybe eight or so, but I'm about to reach my goal of either putting our boys together or ripping the hearts out of both. That's only a possibility, though. For all I know this thing could go on to forty-three chapters, like Magic's Survivor. Or more than a hundred, like Lothiriel, by JunoMagic. I hope the latter doesn't happen, though. I should think I'd run out of plot, characters, and stamina. And an audience. (Btw, two really great fics just ended. Magic's Survivor, by Shaelesand, and Grass is Greener, by etcetera cat. Go read 'em.)

Soundtrack for this Chapter: Uh… "Borrowed Time," By Leahy? It's a hard song to find. I got it on Kazaa. If anyone wants a copy, leave your e-mail in a review and I'll send it. It's a bittersweet song.

Eighty-thousand words. . . Y'know, folks, I've realized that technically this counts as a novel now. Whee! I've written a novel and two novellas! (Technically it's really only one novella for the moment, but Circles counts as a novel, and Violin counts as a novella, although sooner or later it will be a novel in its own right.)

Fireblade K'Chona: I didn't know. I still don't. Angst. . . Fluff. . . Hell, why not both? Or neither? o.o I scare myself when I realize that I don't know where this story is going. . . . Then I forget and am happy for a few weeks.

Thanks to TatsuKitty, wizard116, Shadowfax, and Fimbrethil. And Mischakitsune. Without her, errors would pepper this, annoying reviewers everywhere.

Well, here it is. The chapter that I'm sure you've all been waiting for since I announced they were lifebonded. The moment of truth: Will Rowen accept Julian, or will he chuck everyone's favorite Bard out of his heart's door so Julian can die a lonely, pain-filled death in a ditch somewhere? (Personally I prefer the ditch option. . . .)

The answer lies below. . . .

* * *

God knows it's easy to hide,  
Easy to hide from the things that you feel  
And harder to blindly trust  
What you can't understand 

God knows it's easy to run,  
Easy to run from the people you love  
And harder to stand and fight  
For the things you believe

Nothing about us was perfect or clear  
But when paradise calls me  
I'd rather be here  
There's something between us  
That nobody else needs to see

_"I'd Give It All For You" from the musical, _Songs for a New World

Chapter 27: I'd Give It All For You

Hooves on the pavement before him.

"Julian, would you happen to know what, exactly it is that you know and I don't?"

'_Oh no._'

Julian plastered a fake smile on his face and asked Rowen, "What do you mean?"

'_Not about the lifebond, not about the lifebond, not about the lifebond, _please_ Gods, not about the lifebond!_'

"Apparently I don't know about something, and Gaelan said to ask you about it."

_Irritation. _Rowen had no idea what Julian knew, and he wanted to know quite badly.

"Rowen," Julian began quickly, "I have no idea what he meant. I'm just as in the dark as you are."

In truth, Julian _was _in the dark. Gaelan _could _have been talking about the lifebond, but there were a lot of things Rowen didn't know that the Groveborn probably did know about. Like the fact that Julian was shaych, for one. Or the fact that Julian was in love with Rowen. Had been, in fact, since before he knew about the lifebond. Possibly that Julian knew how to play the ocarina, a strange little wind instrument from Seejay. It could be any number of things, but the only ones that affected Rowen were the lifebond, Julian's love for him, and the fact that he was shaych, but that was a side issue for now.

_Confusion_. "Julian, I'd been sarcastic with Gaelan about a physical relationship with him, and he made a choking noise. When I asked him to explain it, he said that I didn't know about something, and when I asked him about it, he said to do some soul searching and then ask you about it."

'_Soul. . . . He does mean the lifebond!_'

Julian inadvertently cursed, and Rowen took a step closer. "You know something," he said accusingly. Then his voice softened, but Julian could still tell that he was slightly annoyed.

"Julian, please tell me. The way Gaelan said it made me feel like I'm being oblivious to something immensely important. Something that could change my view on the world. And it involves you. Please, Julian. Tell me."

'_Tell you? Tell you that I love you and that we're lifebonded? Make you hate me forever?_'

"I'm still lost, Rowen. I have no idea." His voice cracked slightly, and Rowen's attitude changed to both _concern_ and _resentment_.

"I can tell you're lying." Rowen sounded doubtful. "Why are you lying?"

"I'm not."

"You are."

"You're beginning to sound like a child."

"Would it kill you to just tell me?" Rowen asked.

Through gritted teeth, Julian said, "Yes, it very well might."

_Contriteness. _"Something's got you on edge, and this has got to be it."

Damn him. "Yes, something's damn well got me on edge," Julian snapped, "But it's not your business!"

_Anger. _"It has to do with me," Rowen bit out. "That makes it my business. Tell me what's bothering you, Julian. I feel like you've been avoiding me, and I know you've been distant. I don't like it when my friends avoid me, and I like it even less when you're avoiding me."

"It has to do with me," Rowen bit out. "That makes it my business. me what's bothering you, Julian. I feel like you've been avoiding me, and I you've been distant. I don't like it when my friends avoid me, and I like it even less when avoiding me." 

'_You just don't understand,_' Julian thought helplessly.

"Rowen, I've said this before and I'll say it again. _I can't tell you_. You'd hate me, and I won't be able to bear that. Please stop asking."

"Is it that you're shaych?" Rowen asked suddenly.

"No it's—what did you say?" Julian felt himself blanch.

"Is it that you're shaych?" Rowen repeated. This time he sounded and Felt less sure of himself, though.

How had he found out? Surely Sendan or Masaan wouldn't have said anything. . . No, Julian decided. They wouldn't. He would have been able to feel their guilt as they'd said it, and there had been nothing from them except for generalized feelings that Julian usually got from a Healer or a child.

"I—" Julian hesitated, and Rowen's meager feeling of confidence grew.

"Are you?" he asked the Bard softly. "It wouldn't bother me if you are. I swear it, Julian. _It would not disgust me_."

Still, Julian hesitated. Should he have his secret out in the open now? Sendan and Masaan were the only ones that knew here. A few trusted friends, and of course, his few-and-far-between-lovers, were the only ones in Valdemar that knew. What harm could it do if Rowen knew? It might even make the Changechild think that that was what Gaelan had mentioned, and he might decide to leave the matter alone.

Julian set his chin and turned toward Rowen—even though he couldn't see, the posture itself radiated openness—and smiled nervously. "Yes, I am," he said, though inside his stomach was writhing like a snake. What if Rowen had been lying? What if Rowen hadn't been sure? What if Rowen—

"While I believe you, I know for a fact that that's not what's been keeping you sleepless at night and causing you to have late-night whispered conversations with Masaan," Rowen said matter-of-factly.

"It is!" Julian said hotly.

Rowen was quiet for a long moment, then ventured quietly, "Do you feel attraction for me?" _Nervousness._

'_Dear Gods._' Should he tell the truth and have their relationship forever change, or lie and hope it stayed the way it was? But now. . . Rowen would continue to question who and what Julian was, and eventually he would figure everything out. Would it be better to have him angry and afraid now, or angry and afraid later?

'_Later,_' Julian decided. '_Definitely later._'

"No," he said, proud that his voice was steady and sure. "I do not."

_Slight Disappointment. _"Oh," Rowen said. "Wait a minute. Julian," he said hesitantly. "I love you."

'_He- what?_' The shock of those three little words sent Julian into a whirlwind of confusion. He blushed, paled, blushed again—and his carefully crafted shields came crashing down, sending every emotion he had—love for Rowen, worry that Rowen would discover the lifebond, unhappiness at having to hide both the lifebond and how much he cared for the Changechild every day, fear of losing Rowen once he found out, and a million other emotions—flying to the four winds—free for Rowen to see.

'_NO!_'

Julian slammed his shields back up with a _crack_ that was nearly audible, and hastily sent out a wave of confusion, hoping to scramble the emotions flying free through the air in a rainbow of coruscation that only his mind could show his blind eyes.

Too late. There was a moment of silver silence, and then one of Rowen's hooves scuffed on the pavement. He didn't speak. Julian found that he himself couldn't, and they stared at each other in silence; Rowen with his eyes of green fire and Julian with his Gift at the roiling mass of emotions that was Rowen. That he had caused.

That he had released.

And Rowen knew.

Julian knew that Rowen had only said the words to shock him into letting his shields down, and that he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Julian felt betrayed, and it wasn't long before he felt tears well up from his soul, escape the dams of his eyes and run down his cheeks.

A knife would be quick, wouldn't it? A knife to the heart¾ a lesser pain than the knives that stabbed his heart with every tear that fled his empty eyes.

He finally shattered the uneasy silence. "I should go," he whispered, and turned to leave. He'd gotten three steps before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"No," Rowen said hoarsely, tightening his hand on Julian's shoulder. "We have to figure this out," he continued. "This—Julian, are we really—" he seemed to have something stuck in his throat.

"Lifebonded?" Julian said quietly, not turning around. "Yes. I'm so sorry."

For a moment, Rowen's seething emotions cleared. _Confusion. _"Why?"

"Because you deserve to be lifebonded to someone better," Julian said bluntly. "Someone attractive, someone you can be attracted _to_. Someone—" he nearly choked. "—who is not me," he finished.

"Julian. . . ." Rowen breathed his name, and it was more than Julian could bear.

"Stop it!" he cried. "I'm sick of this _lying_! I'm sick of lying to you, and I'm sick of lying to myself! I love you, and there's nothing I can do about it. I tried to ignore it, telling myself it would go away in time, and that the lifebond didn't matter! But it didn't. I think I would die if I ever had to be apart from you, but I'm dying right now not being _near _you! I hate myself for loving you, and I hate you for making me love you! I knew," he said, losing the stamina to yell and continuing in a quiet voice, "that there was no way you could ever love me back. I told myself—I told myself that if I made you see how ugly I was, and you told me how ugly I was, it would make me not love you. But you told me it was attractive—that _I_ was attractive, and my resolve flew to pieces.

"It never worked. I berated myself constantly, and still you encouraged me, all the while encouraging ad building this _love_."

A major emotion was now _pity_.

"I don't want your pity," Julian said, trying to push Rowen's hand off his shoulder. "I don't want it, and I don't need it. All you did was encourage me, and encourage _it_. Now. . . I think I might die if I'm away from you. That's why¾ that's why I want you to ask a Herald-Mage to break it. Gaelan might be able to; ask him. All I want is an end to this unrequited _Hell_ and to try to make myself not love you anymore."

Confusion.

"Don't you see? I need you to hate me. Cast me out of your thoughts, cast me out of your memories, cast me out of your _life_. Just get me away from you, because I know that all you can truly be feeling is disgust, and I don't want that. I need you to tell me—" Julian almost faltered, then his resolve steeled.

"_I need you to tell me that you don't love me._"

He waited expectantly for those four words that would shatter his heart and make his life meaningless.

What he got was a significantly different answer. Rowen spun him around roughly and gripped Julian by the shoulders so hard it hurt.

Julian could feel hot, salt-scented breath on his face. "Do you really think that I would say those words?" Rowen asked. He gave Julian a little shake. "We're lifebonded. That means _something_, Julian. Wholeness. We complete each other. If that doesn't mean something to you, I don't know what does. I know it means something to _me_."

Julian tried to protest, to tell Rowen to stop toying with him, but the Changechild continued.

"I don't know if I love you, Julian. I love you as a friend; that I know. I don't know that I'm _in love _with you, but I may be."

How can you be this cruel? Julian wanted to say. He knew Rowen. Rowen was a stoic man who wasn't given to loving often, and even if he did love something, it would surely not be the unworthy Julian J'Erthan.

Heedless, Rowen plowed on, oblivious to the pain flashing across Julian's heart.

"I may love you, but I'm not sure. I don't dally in love, and I don't dally with lifebonds. This is a serious thing, and I'm not willing to see you get hurt."

Julian had finally had enough. He ripped his shoulders out of Rowen's hands and shoved himself away, landing with his back flat against the side of the stair housing.

"You're hurting me right now!" he screamed. "I know this isn't possible, so _stop teasing me_, stop trying to fool yourself, and _get on with it_!"

"I can't," Rowen said simply. "I can't say that I don't love you, because I don't not love you. I love you as a friend, and I love you as. . ." he paused, but then continued with more passion. "As a man. I love you as a man. Will that make you happy? All I want is your happiness."

"So don't play the martyr and sacrifice yourself for me! You would not be happy with me, and my happiness would be to set you free, not see you chained to me! _Just say the godforsaken words!"_

"No," Rowen said, and touched Julian's scarred cheek. Julian felt strong arms come around him and separate him from the wall. Those arms held him at arms length, and Julian could feel Rowen's eyes burning into his face. Of their own volition, his own hands lifted to Rowen's face, and felt the tears there.

'_Tears,_' he thought with wonder. '_For me?_'

One of those tears splashed onto Julian's face, and he turned it up, wishing that he could see Rowen's face—wishing that he could see the emotion that must be etched there.

"_I love you_," Rowen said almost in wonder, and then kissed him.

Warmth, and the feeling of clumsy lips against his own. The ever-present darkness lightened until it seemed like there were sparks of light flashing before Julian's broken eyes.

Rowen's arms crushed him against a strong, broad torso, and for the first time in his life, Julian felt entirely safe.

The Changechild's lips shifted to his scarred cheek, and he brushed his lips against every line and scar there; kissed Julian's unseeing eyes; kissed the long tear scar on his other cheek.

Rowen kissed him, or he kissed Rowen, and there was no need for air. He had Rowen, and that was enough.


	28. Light of the Stars

And here I wanted to drop a mountain on them . . . sighs oh well. I wasn't doing the happy-dance over the last chapter, but it was decent, though short. I'm glad you all liked it. And I can still drop a mountain on someone else.

Fireblade K'Chona: Yeah… you can thank the fact that the laptop came with Microsoft Works for that, but I fixed it. Thanks for telling me.

Laureline: "The bright young seven year old had attached himself to Rowen for reasons unknown, and made Rowen his proxy older brother." Rowen is like Nadar's role model/older brother, since the little moody brat only has sisters.

Thanks to AikoNamika, Tatsukitty, Coral, Fimbrethil, Indigo, Shadowfax, and Wizard116. And the real-life Shored for nagging me. I love you, dude. And I also love MischaKitsune.

Notes: I've been getting a wee bit of chastisement from a few people outside of the site about my use of the word 'alright,' and I'm sure it must have confused a few of you, too, so I'll clear that up now. 'Alright' is just a shortened term of 'all right,' as I'm sure most of you have figured. Its use is way more prominent in the U.K. than it is in North America. I honestly have no idea where I picked it up, but to me it just sounds better. Sorry for the confusement.

And… I know no oneis going to be happy with what happens in this chapter, but it was a loose end that I had to take care of.

See if you can find the WAFF in this chapter. If you can. . . well. . . joy for you.

Unashamed Pluggage: Please read and review my original short story, _Savior of Stone_, which can be found in the Fairy Tales section or in my profile. Thanks.

* * *

When the dark wood fell before me  
And all the paths were overgrown  
When the priests of pride say there is no other way  
I tilled the sorrows of stone 

I did not believe because I could not see  
Though you came to me in the night  
When the dawn seemed forever lost  
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

_Dante's Prayer _by Loreena McKennitt

**Chapter 28: Light of the Stars**

For a long, long time, Rowen just held Julian, breathing into the silken blonde mop of his hair, confused at what he'd done, hovering in that strange calm he knew was shock, but also strangely happy.

Lifebonded. With Julian. Ye gods, could this situation get any more confusing? He felt inside himself for the lifebond, and found it clear and strong, pulsing confidently. A link that would connect them for the rest of their lives and beyond. He noticed that he hadn't thought of it as being binding, and realized that not only was he at ease with the lifebond, he wasn't bothered by the thought of spending the rest of his life with Julian. The only thing that worried him was—

"R-Rowen?" Julian asked, voice still slightly hoarse.

Rowen stiffened, then winced and hoped it hadn't been noticeable. "Yes?"

"Where—what do we do now?"

_How can you expect me to know _that? Rowen thought.

"I just—I don't know," Julian said, and Rowen felt a wave of unhappiness mixed with contentment well up from somewhere deep inside him. "I never really considered that you might find out, and never thought that this would be the result. I don't—I didn't—I still don't know what to _do_ about it. I know my feelings on the matter," he said suddenly, seemingly changing the topic.

_Feel. . . . he means 'do I love him', _Rowen thought, chest tight, and nearly panicked. _Do I? _Do _I? Can I? _

Indecision shook him, and then hope steadied him and showed him the way.

Without saying anything, he reached down and tipped Julian's head up. "I don't know if what I feel is love," he said slowly, "but I'm willing to think so, and I'd. . . that is, if you're willing. . . I'd like to give it a try."

A smile spread across Julian's face like the sun, and then Rowen smiled, too.

Then it started to rain, and still they stood there, letting the rain wash away all fears and doubts.

When the sun shone again—brightly now—for it was after dawn, they went inside quietly, avoiding any passing pages or early-rising courtiers. The one thing they could not avoid was the kyree and ratha. One of each saw them passing in the hall, and Rowen would swear that the ratha _smirked _at him as they walked past quickly. The kyree just gave them a knowing glance and nodded at them before silently slinking off down a side hall.

When they got to Rowen's door, instead of asking to come in, Julian merely placed a hand on Rowen's arm. "I'm sure you still need some time to digest this," he said quietly. "And Kernos knows we both need sleep. I'll leave you to that then. You can come find me when you want to, alright?"

Gratefully, Rowen nodded. It wasn't that he hadn't _wanted _Julian to come in, he just wasn't sure of how things would have—progressed—from there. . . He didn't really expect it to have degenerated into bedplay, but he was just unsure of what to say. _"So we're lifebonded, eh?" "Seems that way." "Ah…" _

He snorted. If it _had _gone into bedplay, he'd have been completely lost. Human/horse intercourse was _not_ something he wanted to contemplate while still comprehending the lifebond. He'd never been very intimate with anyone—scratch that, been intimate at _all_—and how exactly—No. He was _not_ going to contemplate _that_ right now.

Julian turned away as if to go, and on impulse, Rowen leaned down and kissed the musician gently again. "I _will_ see you later," he murmured, then went into his suite.

§

Julian collapsed onto his bed, feeling dazed. Who could have thought that there was even a chance that Rowen could have felt the same way?

Certainly not Julian himself. He admitted—perhaps he had been a bit hysterical, but—no. Certainly he had acted the fool, but the act itself had seemed to spur Rowen to decide—_wait_. His head shot off the bed. What if Rowen had been faking for Julian's sake?

Hesitantly, he reached inside himself and touched the lifebond—something he had been yearning to do since learning of its existence, and Felt only surety and hope shining from it.

It wasn't a lie, then. Relief flooded him, and he abruptly felt dizzy and laid his head back down.

Rowen did care. He did.

Cautiously and ever so carefully, Julian fed a trickle of joy down the link, half-hoping Rowen would notice.

There was a surge of surprise, and then something that Julian could only describe as a warm and fuzzy feeling came rushing back through the lifebond.

Delighted, Julian laughed—the first cheerful sound he'd made in quite some time.

§

Melles growled. Not only had that fool Tremane survived his attack, he was now conscious and once again leading his—_his!_—Kingdom. The Emperor cursed under his breath. There had to be some way of getting rid of that _meddling_ fool forever. There _had _to be.

§

Frowning, Nadar toyed with the long dagger. Would Rowen like it?

The hilt was wrapped in plain twisted iron, and there was nothing etched on the blade, though there was a small rowan leaf on the tang—a play on Rowen's name. It was pure, clean, and simple, just like Rowen.

_Pral, where are you now? _he wondered as he balanced it on the tip of his finger.

His beltpouch was very full today, thanks to the pocketchange that his parents had been sending him that _he _hadn't been spending, and when he thought of Rowen's face as he would hold up the dagger, Nadar smiled and decided to buy it.

As he moved to attract the merchant's attention, however, a commotion broke out behind him, and when he turned around he was confronted by a wide, curved blade and a sneering face.

The slash of a mouth opened, revealing rotting teeth. "Gimme yer money."

Without giving the man any time to realize that he was not just some young teenager looking for a fancy blade, Nadar drove his knee into the man's stomach and followed it with a swift blow to the side of the head with the pommel of the dagger he was still holding.

The man doubled over gasping, and Nadar kicked him aside when he heard a scream from across the street. A man was backed up against a wagon, struggling for breath and trying to pull a knife out of his side, but the three young men surrounding him didn't give him the chance; they swarmed him and in mere seconds the man was on the ground in a pool of blood, and the youths were gone in the crowd.

Nadar made to follow them, but something tugging on his stomach stopped him. He looked down and felt like the world was shaking in its foundations as he realized there was a long, curved blade protruding from his stomach, and that there was blood on it. Only after he had registered that then it started to _hurt_. He dropped to his knees, gasping, and felt Rowen's knife slip from his grasp. Then he toppled backwards onto the handle of the blade—_Scythe_, he thought numbly—and it _really _hurt. He couldn't breathe, and every attempt made the pain worse. He closed his eyes, and everything receded into a sea of black.

When he thought again, it was only to wonder why he couldn't breathe, and why his mouth tasted like he had been sucking on a copper.

Something green filled his vision, and the absence of something that was both white-hot and deathly cold in his abdomen made him cry out briefly. He felt a gush of something warm on his hands, and briefly remembered—_Rowen's dagger_—and reached for it. If he could only grab it, everything would be okay. The knife seemed both farther away and closer, and more intricate than he remembered, but he managed to close his sticky hands over it with a smile of triumph.

Then the darkness returned.

* * *

I _was _feeling happy-go-lucky when I wrote this, and even though I'm not anymore, I figured I might as well throw it out there anyway. 

_The scene is a dark alley near Exile's Gate. Chiming on stone is heard, and a ghostly white figure glides into view. A small whinny sounds through the clear, cold air before a Companion materializes completely. Bright blue eyes look from side to side shiftily, and the Companion snorts. Its white body gleams against the dirt of the alley, and it shifts nervously before tossing its head up to look at the sky, as if to ask, 'Why me?'_

_It glances downward, and involuntarily, one hoof starts beating the cobblestones in a Mr. Ed-esque fashion. The Companion sighs gustily, and then its other hooves start chiming of their own accord. Looking annoyed, the Companion starts tap-dancing in the middle of the alley, going right and left helplessly as its hooves go tap-chime, all the while bearing an odd resemblance to a certain red-headed child who constantly leaps out of her deathbed and dances with her butler._

_When it's finished performing a rather skewed-chime version of what at first appears to be a severely distorted Riverdance—which then changed into one of the worst carillion-sounding performances ever heard—it sidles into a side entrance to a building, only to find that the door is locked. It squeezes itself into the opening, and then pokes its head out, as if to say 'Go Away.'_

To prevent more erratically-dancing Companions, please review.


	29. Hugging the Blade

I ATEN'T DEAD!

Ano… it's been a few months… sorry. I had no motivation at all to write this, but hopefully I won't do the half-year-plus wait again.

But, as some of you may already know, I did get a story published in my school's lit mag, so please go check it out. It was _Ashes to Ashes_, which can be found in the fairytales section of ficcynet. Thanks!

And thank yous to Fireblade K'Chona, Fimbrethil, Ragnchild, ChaosLightning13, mugglepirate, cocokate, Fallsong K'animelover, Slinki, Shadow Cat17, Esca, Amberstag, the real Shored, and of course, Mischa Kitsune for betaing. Thanks so much you guys!

* * *

The more he bleeds, the more he lives.  
He never forgets and he never forgives….

Sweeney wishes the world away,  
Sweeney's weeping for yesterday,  
Hugging the blade, waiting the years,  
Hearing the music that nobody hears.

_Finale _of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

**Chapter 29: Hugging the Blade **

It was a dismal day when Rowen, Julian and Shored rode through Haven's East Gate. Since the message had come by way of the teleson, the Changechild had barely said a word to anyone, even Julian.

Vendors and shopkeepers looked their way and then would quickly glance away; Rowen had been frightening before, but now he was positively terrifying. The armor he wore and weapons he carried made him look akin to a machine of war, and the expression on his face was as cold and forbidding as the frozen wastelands above the Ice Wall mountains were purported to be.

Heralds Dirk and Talia met them at the entrance to the Healer's Collegium. Talia took charge of Shored and Gaelan, leaving the two men with Dirk.

"Where is he?" Julian asked, sending a tendril of thought towards Rowen. He was met with a stony wall of nothing from the other man and a sigh from the Herald.

"Follow me. We've got him in cold storage."

The Herald led them through a series of hallways and down several sets of stairs before bringing them to a room that made the hair on the back of Julian's neck stand on end.

"It's cold," he said, hugging himself in vain.

"This is where we keep the bodies that can't be buried right away," Dirk said. "You'll find Nadar on the end table." Footsteps sounded at the door and then stopped. "I'm so sorry," Dirk said, and then left.

Julian heard Rowen slowly move to the other side of the room and the _shfff _of a cloth being pulled back.

A low growl came from the other side of the room. "Rowen?" Julian asked tentatively.

"Melles," Rowen rasped.

"What?" Julian said, not sure if he'd heard him correctly.

"Melles," Rowen rasped. "It had to be."

"But what if it's not—" though he couldn't see, Julian _knew _Rowen was glaring at him.

"It is, I _know _it," Rowen said.

"What will you do?"

Without hesitation, Rowen said four words that made Julian at first confused, then when Rowen sent him the definition through the lifebond, horror.

"I cry blood-feud."

§

The tent-shrine was a hastily erected structure in the middle of Companion's Field, and though the altars had the required objects on them—wheat sheaf, stone, flame, and fresh flower—Rowen felt a sense of trepidation when he entered the tent. He had thought it through—knew that Melles had to be destroyed—and knew that he would sacrifice anything to see it done. Nadar had been his last link with his old life. Thinking back on Sa'heera, she had changed from when he knew her in the Clan. She was married—which she had sworn never to do—had married an _outlander _and was pregnant. She was more sedate, more calm. She was no longer the Sa'heera shena Tale'sedrin who Rowen had known.

And his last link was gone. His brother was lying dead on a table in the pits of Healers Collegium because of Melles. Rage coursed through him again, followed by raw pain and then regret—not for himself, but for the man he was leaving behind. Julian.

Oh, the life they could have lived together once this war was over. Now—now one would be forever longing and the other forever vengeful.

Julian waited outside with Nadar's last gift, a knife. It was a sleek, simple thing. Perfect for every day use.

Rowen planned to leave it in Melles' breast when all was said and done.

He closed the flaps of the tent behind him and returned to the center of the tent. Then he began to sing the song of the Sworn, to sing and to remember his brother and his short life and death upon a scythe. To remember all of the travesties visited on the people of Hardorn and what he knew of Shored's sad life.

Before he finished a strong wind began to blow out of the South. What was supposed to be the last wind to appear was the first—and the only.

He was the target of a harsh wind that carried with it the scent of burning things and a hot day on the Plains. The wind was dry and stung his eyes, but he kept them open, waiting, singing, praying that She would appear.

She did not. There was a breath of warm wind around his bare shoulders, and tickling as his hair brushed away from him to lie in front of the flame on the south altar.

When he left the tent only three people stood in wait. Jarim saw Rowen's hair and left to seek the clothing that the local hertasi had provided.

The Queen's Own had stayed to provide counseling should Kal'enel reject his Oath, and when she had seen that it had been accepted, she merely came forward to place a hand on his shoulder and then mount Rolan to go back to the Palace.

Rowen felt Julian's mind probe, and then the Bard just turned and walked away.

Rowen didn't follow.

§

In the night a calling woke him from where he lay dreaming fitfully of his brother's death. Rowen rose and left the _ekele_. He'd not seen Julian since he'd taken the Oath, and the musician wasn't upstairs.

Outside in the misty grass of Companion's Field, something waited.

The Field was lit on the far side by the lanterns at the stable and a few lights in the windows of the darkened Palace and Collegiums were visible. Other than the tiny flame Rowen had conjured to light his way, all was dark.

A sharp blow to his cheek sent his head snapping around, and when he dared to look at the source, he found himself looking at a woman, armed, dangerous, and expressionless. Hair as dark as night and short to her shoulders fell from the crown of her head, and she was dressed all in black armor and harsh cloth. A headband held her braids out of her eyes, the only part of her face visible between the headband and the veil concealing the rest of her face. Her eyes, the mark of the leshya'kal'enedral, for they were black entirely lit only by the light of a few cold stars.

"What right had you to take the Oath, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin?" she asked in a monotonous though rasping voice that echoed as from the depths of a cave.

"Melles killed my brother, Wise One. He is a tyrant and seeks to destroy these countries. I seek to end his reign and bring peace to these countries."

"Others have lost more than you and still did not seek to follow Her."

"Others have also lost less than I and have been accepted by Her."

"Would you deny the lifebond?"

"I do not."

"Then why do you seek the sexless way of the Kal'enedral?"

"The Kal'enedral are bound only from feeling sexual desire. They are not bound from love."

The corners of her eyes crinkled. "It is a good answer."

Her next words surprised him. "Now defend yourself."

Though he had only a sword with him and no armor, he parried her blows as easily as he had Kerowyn's—not very, but enough to keep her from landing a blow.

"I am to train you," she said in that rough voice that would have made him cringe had he not been trying to keep her from lopping his head off.

"Train me?"

"In the ways of the Sworn."

Then she shoved her black sword into his lower body, and into his second heart.

Blackness, then he found himself staring up at the night sky. Someone was prodding him with a boot. "Wake," the spirit sworn said. "You have much to learn."

In time, he learned to wake in mid-night and meet his teacher with weapons and armor, and that to kill her did not mean her end, and that he was only killed—though with the accompanying pain—to teach him a lesson.

On the eleventh night when he had killed the harsh-voiced woman six times in a row and she had barely been able to score him, she nodded at him at the end of the night and did not come the next.

Instead there was a creature that made him nearly rear in surprise.

"You are surprised to see me, I think," the black gryphon said in surprisingly clipped trade-tongue.

"How—how could a _gryphon _become a _Kal'enedral_?" he asked, gaping.

"It is a story for another time," the gryphon said slowly, then attacked Rowen with such ferocity that he died within ten seconds.

He was so different, Rowen thought as he got up from the ground, still shaking with the memory of being flayed alive. _Humans I can handle, but I've never had to handle a gryphon like this one. Even Treyvan and Hydona weren't this hard_.

The Changechild readied himself again and instead of waiting for the gryphon to attack, launched himself at the creature, blades spinning. This time he managed to kick the gryphon's head in before a spastic death-throe from one of the gryphon's hind legs tore half of Rowen's rib cage off and threw it into a tree with a wet _splat_.

It took him six nights before Rowen managed to kill the gryphon without making the death a double one.

On that occasion the gryphon called a momentary truce and allowed Rowen to ask a question.

Rowen had been waiting for this for weeks; the question rose to the top of his mind and he spoke it. "How did a gryphon become Sworn to the Warrior?"

"That is an interesting question with an equally interesting answer," the gryphon said.

"I was one of the gryphons living in the Pelagris woods with my mate—Ysferil," he said, and his brows lowered in an almost human frown. "We came to live with the Barban'edras many, many centuries ago."

The Clan of the Siblings of the Wind! The Clan itself only lived for a few short years before it dissolved after a terrible tragedy and the members were accepted back into the Pretera'sedrin. 

The gryphon recounted a tale of his life with his mate and then with the Shin'a'in. The creature's apparent familiarity with the Clans astonished Rowen. "Ysferil and I lived with the Barban'edras for several years and were adopted into the Clan like we were human. We lived in peace—had children—before a herd of Changelions came out of the Pelagris and attacked the Clans. It could have been any Clan; we just had the bad luck to be camped on the shore of Shin'ta'vis when the lions got hungry. They killed Ysferil and half the children of the Clan and dragged my children off to eat later. I had to save them and eradicate the danger to the Clans, so I did the only thing I could."

"You took the Oath," Rowen concluded.

"No. I went after them, got myself half-killed, saw my children torn apart, didn't kill the Changelions, and then dragged my half-dead self back to the Clans to be Healed. _Then _I took the Oath."

"And you were trained by the leshya'kal'enedral and then killed the Changelions."

"No, and you should stop jumping to conclusions," the gryphon said. "It's a bad habit."

"Sorry," Rowen said.

"Right. I went after the mage that had made the Changelions and killed him, which weakened the protective magics on the Changelions, _then _I killed them. I died in the process, but it got rid of that danger to the People."

"Oh," Rowen said.

The gryphon then proceeded to eat his face off. "That was for interrupting me," he said. "Learn some manners!"

§

He learned to use his inner fire to heat his blade enough to sear through leather and to slice through human limbs like butter—to throw sheets of flame at his enemies through both reflex and conscious thought. To kill with only swords, and to kill with only flame.

Two weeks and six more human leshya'kal'enedral teachers later, Nadar was buried and Rowen was ready to fight his way to Melles and kill the one-time Emperor.

The original spirit-Sworn that had appeared appeared on the last night and told him that he was now ready to fight his way to Melles, if that was what he still desired.

Rowen answered in the affirmative, and the spirit departed.

The next morning as he was bringing his arms to a smith to be checked, Alberich sought him out.

"It is my wish to have words with you," the former Weaponsmaster said as Rowen shifted the bulk of the black armor and weapons higher on his back.

"On what?"

"The matter of your brother's death. Believe I do that a grave misunderstanding there has been."

"Wait here." Rowen grabbed a page who had been lurking about and charged him to bring the arms to Armorer Grant. "Tell him the armor should be checked thoroughly and any and all repairs are to be made so the armor is at it's absolute best. The swords are to be sharpened and straightened." When the page had summoned three other boys to help him and then scuttled off with the rest of the armor, Rowen returned to Alberich's side.

"Come."

Rowen followed the Karsite to the salle and through a hidden doorway behind one of the massive mirrors into what he assumed to be Alberich's private suite. Kerowyn popped her head out of one of the doors, saw Rowen and excused herself.

_Something is going on here_.

"Know you do that I do work in secret for the Queen?" Alberich asked suddenly.

"No."

"Lurk in the taverns of dangerous parts of Haven I do and seek out rumors of those who trouble for the Crown cause. Find rumors I do often of even less savory stuff."

"What does this have to do with me and mine?" Rowen asked, shifting uncomfortably. If Alberich wanted to skulk about, that was his business, and Rowen had no time to worry about him.

"Took it upon myself I did to find the truth behind your brother's death, for the happenings we knew of did not at Melles hint, nor speak to me did they of work done by the Empire."

Alberich searched Rowen's face knowingly for a moment, but obviously did not find what he was looking for. In perfect Valdemaran he saved for only serious situations or circumstances requiring careful diplomacy, he clarified, "Nadar's death was not caused by Melles or any agent of his. Rather a botched robbery attempt it was, caused by those who are too poor or lazy to find honest work."

"You lie," Rowen said. The old man had to be. If Nadar's death hadn't been caused by Melles, then why would She have accepted his Oath?

"Know I do not why the Lady accepted your Oath, but know this I do—when one is desperate enough, and his intentions pure enough, the gods have been known to take pity and give them what they need."

"But—"

"Think more on this I will not," Alberich said. "Up to you to puzzle this it is. Good luck, and remember that sometimes you are not the focus of an empire."


	30. Clear My Conscience

All I can say is that Nadar was a loose end. He was a whiny, annoying loose end. So he had to go.

Thanks for the support, and I'm glad that so many people still like the story even after the vacation.

Oh. Really pointless self-pimping. If you like Political Satire then check out my DeviantArt comics. The link is on my profile page. Thanks.

And if you like amusing blogs... check my Myspace. This link, too, can be yours today by going to my author profile...

Thanks to Fireblade K'Chona, Sunfairy, Ragnhild, TatsuKitty, Niana Kuonji, Shadow Cat17, and Karine Dragon'sheart.

And now, I bid you adieu.

* * *

I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
To clear my conscience 

I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
Sacrifice, sacrifice

_tATu's Sacrifice_

**Chapter 30: Clear My Conscience**

_How could he go through with it?_ Julian thought as he sat isolated in a corner of the Library where he knew no one ever went. His hands trembled as they swept over the lines of Braille. It was a special language that had only just been introduced a few years ago from Rikaban, a country far, far to the west. But Julian was far, far too distressed to read it.

_How could he do it? How could _She _accept it? The kal'enedral are _celibate_. They can love, but only platonically. We are lifebonded. How could it have happened?_

While he slouched further and further in his chair, despondently, someone opened the door to the unlit room. He hadn't needed a light. There was the draw of a match against a rough surface, and then the acrid scent of smoke drifted towards Julian's nose.

Heavy footsteps made their way towards where Julian sat, hands brushing over the abnormally thick pages of a peculiar book. They stopped just behind Julian's chair, but he didn't move.

"I'm sorry," he said, "Can I help you?

The man clapped a slight hand onto Julian's shoulder.

"Heyla, _Juju_."

"R-Rojer," Julian said. Why would Rojer--

"Little brother," the man said. "You haven't come to see me since you got back."

"I--I didn't think--" Julian stuttered. He didn't think that Rojer would have wanted to see him. Rojer would have never accepted the shay'a'chern part of him, so he had always pushed Rojer away, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes. He'd gotten enough of it from their father, after all. Who needed it from the rest of their family?

"Of course you didn't think," Rojer said. "You never think."

"I--how have you been?" Julian asked, desperate to avoid the awkward silence he knew was coming.

"Good. I got married." It was a flat confession. No happiness, no burst of eagerness to share. Just the words themselves.

_What! _"Um, congratulations!" Julian said. He felt like reeling out of his chair. He'd never heard anything of his brother even courting anyone, let alone getting married.

"But you wouldn't have known about it, would you?" Rojer continued, voice turning bitter. "Always out of Haven and all, wandering all over Valdemar."

"I've been busy," Julian said vaguely, wondering why Rojer would be bothering him at a time like this.

"Always busy. You always pushed me away, and now you're doing it again. Sweet Kernos, Julian, can't you see that this is bad?"

"I really don't need this right now, Rojer," Julian said.

"You don't need anything. Didn't need my help when you left home when you were sixteen, didn't need anyone's help when you got your _eyes _slashed _open_, didn't need to ever come back to Haven, didn't need to come back for your own brother's wedding."

"Rojer, please," Julian pleaded. If there was any more of this, he was going to scream.

"Please what? Please what, Julian? You say _please _now, but you never said it before. What is _so damn different _about this time that you _actually _need help?"

"_Please_." _Please stop bothering me. Everything about you is bringing out the worst in me, and if this keeps going on I'm going to try to destroy something. _

"Please what?"

"_Please stop!_" Julian said, dropping his shields and throwing everything he had in his Empathic power at Rojer, which honestly wasn't much. He was exhausted and emotionally drained from Rowen's Oaths. What he hit the Healer with wasn't a wave so much as it was a halfassed attempt to knock him down.

"Ju--oh my dear sweet gods," he heard Rojer say, and he curled into a ball in the seat of the chair.

"Just go away," Julian said, voice muffled by the loose cloth of the sleeves of his tunic.

"What the bloody _hell_ has been going on in your life?"

"Too much," he mumbled, and Rojer pulled up a chair.

"Maybe I can help."

A quarter of a candlemark later, Julian was sobbing himself dry in the chair, and Rojer was mulling it over across the table.

A few minutes later he opened his mouth. "I can't tell you anything much because I don't have much experience with lifebonds," Rojer said. "The only thing you can do is try to pick up the pieces. Lifebonds are tricky things. Can you still feel him at all?"

Julian uncurled himself stiffly. The room was cold--it always was, and the thinly padded chair wasn't giving him any warmth. He shook-nodded his head at Rojer.

He hadn't even tried to touch it since the middle of the Oath. It had been bitingly cold and then so hot that it had seemed as though that part of Julian's mind would just char off.

Reluctantly, he relaxed and pushed through the mental fence he had erected around the lifebond.

He felt--warm, at first. Then curiously tired. Tired, warm, and utterly devastated. It was Rowen. Julian almost cried out in joy before he realized that the sorrow he was feeling was coming from two sources. One was obviously from loss--Nadar, of course, but what was the other?

Shock hit Julian. Rowen's shock. Julian sent love and worry at it, and only got more distress. What was Rowen upset at?

He got up from his chair, intending to go to his--what was Rowen to him? when the door opened softly before he reached it.

"Come find me later," Rojer said. "I'll be in Healer's Wing."

Julian nodded and strode through the door.

§

Kelseth watched the Changechild pace back and forth over the stone tiles in his floor, muttering darkly.

He'd been doing enough work for the Shin'a'in to know his name--Rowen--but that was it as far as it came to familiarity.

The Changechild had been coming to him since Midspring for armor repairs and customized weapons. Kelseth had had to call in his brother--an armorer for the Companions and steeds for the horse half of Rowen, but the results had been more than amenable.

Now the Shin'a'in had come to have his armor repaired and remade to top-notch specifications, and halfway through explaining to Kelseth _exactly _what he wanted he'd stopped suddenly, stared at the wall, and cursed. That alone had bothered Kelseth since he knew that the Changechild wasn't bonded to a Companion, but when the forge had started flaring and he'd had to pull the Guard-commissioned axes out, he had become singularly worried.

It flared again and he jumped. The shadows on the walls were becoming more and more threatening, and he started eyeing the Changechild. Was he causing it?

A few minutes passed, and when the door slammed open the smith gasped and jumped. Rowen paid him no mind and seemed to be in a staring contest with the man who had walked through the door. The slight man. As Kelseth looked the man over, he realized three things; one--the man was a Bard. Two--he was _blind_, so they obviously couldn't be staring at each other. And three, the fire in the forge had gotten--if possible--hotter and brighter.

Kelseth started making for the back door.

Unfortunately the blind man started speaking, and if there was one thing that Kelseth loved more than forging, it was gossip. Especially if it involved a certain Changechild who half the Court was afraid of and who the other half of were drooling for gossip over.

Neither of them seemed to notice them--either that or they just didn't care--and Kelseth edged within hearing distance just as the Bard said something about a blood-oath. Rowen replied tersely, and then suddenly the two were arguing. The blonde Bard kept mentioning a lifebond, and the Changechild kept insisting that he had to kill them all even if they hadn't killed someone called Nadar.

"It's a suicide mission!" the blind man cried.

"What else do I have to live for?" Rowen shouted.

The other man looked first dumbstruck, and then heartbroken. Without another word he reached up and pulled Rowen's head down and kissed him. Then he mumbled something too soft for Kelseth to hear, and the two men left.

The fire in the forge died suddenly, and Kelseth yelped as he remembered that the Guardsmen's axes were due tomorrow.

§

Dumisai had, now, for a while been hearing tell and tale of strange circles of land far to the North.

He had also been in the habit of having his court secretaries research anything that seemed out of place.

And they had found that these patterns of circles seemed to emanate from somewhere far, far to the North. And that they had apparently happened before--a thousand years and more ago. The circles seemed to have stopped three years ago, but he was still wary.

The Haighlei King was not a suspicious man--no, of course not. But he was a cautious man with a good nose for trouble, which had served his reign well these past fifteen years.

Now the city-country of White Gryphon was sending warnings that the Empire--the Eastern Empire that had long ago expanded south until they had encountered the Southern Sea and the Haighlei--was moving in the south as well as the north. Moving towards the two countries with no set pattern or intention, but White Gryphon was alarmed. Apparently they had agents in the North--in the only vaguely known countries north of Ceejay. The agents had sent messages that the Empire had entered under the new rule of an insane and ruthless leader called Malles or some such.

It had been enough to alarm White Gryphon. The country was fairly small and had only grown to be the size of the smallest of the Haighlei Kingdoms through various treaties and trades with the Empire as a whole since it's birth at around the same time as the original magic circles. And they had been fairly busy compiling reports to send to the Haighlei Emperor concerning the Eastern Empire and it's growing hunger.

Dumisai was personally of the opinion that there was nothing to worry about. After all, once the Empire had reached the Haighlei, they had stopped and had seemed content to remain with the land they had defeated from the old countries that had formerly been to the West of the Haighlei.

And the Haighlei could not enter into a war with the Eastern Empire. Oh, they had come far from the times when change could _only_ occur at the Eclipse Ceremonies, but a war with anyone would have to be approved by at least half of the lesser Haighlei Kings as well as the _kweyu kaya--_the White City.

And the lesser Haighlei Kings were not likely to want to go to war. The Haighlei had numbers, of course. Numbers and the tactical advantage of ships that could attack the Empire from the sea.

But the Empire had gotten its magic back. And while magic wasn't unknown to the Haighlei, the only wielders were Priests and the mages of White Gryphon. Even so, they didn't know how much of their magic the Empire had gotten back--only that they were managing to transport huge numbers of men to the western borders and major cities of the Empire. And that they seemed to be back up to at least partial strength, even though the most magic that White Gryphon's far-seers had been able to see was involved in food transportation and Gates.

That was enough for the _kewyu kaya_, which had already sent more agents to Valdemar in preparation for the war they assumed was coming.

As one of his secretaries brought him another on of those reports of odd-looking people to the south, he frowned and began to contemplate how to convince the other Kings that the matter of the Empire should be looked into.


	31. Smile Colored Black

No excuse. Sorry about the wait.

Thanks to Niana Kuonji, Karine Dragon'sheart, Sunfairy, ShadowCar17, Jo, storylistener, and Amber Stag. You guys rock my socks.

Notes: I know that you usually need a structure (usually on sanctified ground) to open a Gate, but around the End of White Gryphon, Shalaman thinks that the mages must have opened a Portal or whatever their version of a gate is to drop Amberdrake on to the middle of the Eclipse Ceremony's stage. There was no previously existing sanctified structure there except for open air.

* * *

Shadows in your eyes  
Your smile is colored black  
You don't need someone who never saw your empty life  
I never made you smile  
I promise deep inside  
I'm gonna be the one who's gonna keep you satisfied  
I'll make it up to  
I promise to  
I really wanna tell you I'm sorry  
And I can't let you go  
Please forgive me  
_  
Sweetbox's Sorry _

**Chapter 31: Smile Colored Black **

"I'm not going to give up the blood-feud. Even if he wasn't responsible for Nadar--even if he didn't order it, all of the other atrocities he's committed, he needs to go. For Castogol, at least, and for everyone else," Rowen finished, swallowing.

"I know," Julian said quietly, shifting on the damp stone.

"Oh, sorry," Rowen said, and used a tiny bit of Firestarting to dry the stone and the grass around them.

The Bard had been keeping a firm hold on Rowen's hand ever since he'd pulled him from the smithy, and now he tightened his grip. "But I won't let you face it alone," he said. "I don't know--why you needed the Warrior's Oath--but this won't be--I'm not going to let this end what we have. I won't let it sever the lifebond. And I won't lose you."

Rowen pulled Julian close to him, nestling the Bard against his chest and on his forelegs instead of on the hard stone of the path. "I know," he said. "And I won't lose you. But I had to take the Oath to--to--"

"I know why you needed to take it," Julian said. "But it's over. And now you need to finish what you've started. The Empire. They need to be stopped, and right now you're the best chance we've got."

"I'm sorry," Rowen said, and Julian twisted in his arms.

"Don't be," the Bard said. "You've made your choice, and now the only choice we have is to live with it." He smiled. "And the only choice I have is to support you."

Slim fingers reached up to trail along Rowen's jaw, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, and Julian seemed like he was just about to follow them with his lips when he froze.

Rowen frowned.

"There's something--coming," Julian said faintly.

Rowen rose, leaving Julian on the stone pathway next to the _ekele_, and rounded the corner of the structure, wondering if someone was coming from the Palace.

A gaggle of mages was streaming towards Companion's Field from the Herald's Wing of the Palace, and more mages were converging from all directions, running frantically fast. When they started jumping the fence surrounding the Field instead of going through the gates, Rowen knew something was wrong.

He trotted to meet them, passing through a group of startled Companion foals who'd been playing among the rain-wet grass, and was midway between the _ekele _and the fence when there was an enormous _pulling _feeling around the entire Field.

Rowen stopped dead, resisting the urge to kick out at the whatever-it-was, and instead felt the air around him heat. The moisture on the grass under and around him vanished into steam, then suddenly there was a crack like lightning that nearly deafened him.

A Gate opened up in the middle of Companion's Field not five feet from the Changechild, and he frantically backpedaled, hooves slipping in the mud before he dug in and stopped. He pulled his twin swords and stared at the Gate tensely, ready to battle whatever came out.

Companions were streaming from all over the Field to encircle Rowen and the Gate, and he soon found himself surrounded by a solid wall of white speckled with blue.

A tall, thin, black-skinned man clad in bright clothing walked out of the Gate, looking confused. He spotted Rowen and began gabbling something in a guttural language, backing away quickly.

Wondering at the man's ebony skin, Rowen stepped back too so he could keep both man and Gate in his field of vision. Another slim black man stepped out of the Gate, then another two, and then a much paler person stepped out.

One glimpse of silver hair, black clothing, and a silver stylized pin in the shape of a gryphon later, and Rowen knew he was looking at a Silver Gryphon and what were presumably Haighlei comrades. Three seconds after the men had stepped out of the way, a bear of a Herald and a slim young woman fell out, narrowly missing knocking the first, still-babbling man over. Then a Companion pushed through the Gate, and the air was filled with whinnying and scuffling hooves.

The Gate closed, and the Haighlei and the Silver Gryphon formed together in a shallow V, with the second Haighlei man at the front, the first Haighlei and the Kaled'a'in just behind him, and the last two Haighlei just behind _them_. The Herald and the woman that had come out together stayed off to the side with the Companion, and Rowen noted distractedly that the woman had cat eyes like An'desha.

Rowen kept his weapons at the ready even as the mages pressed through the Companions to come up at his back. "Stand down, Rowen," Elspeth said, pushing up next to him. "We can take it from here."

Rowen relaxed slightly and sheathed his swords in one fluid motion. "Would you like me to--" he jerked his head at the Herald, Companion, and woman with the strange eyes.

Elspeth looked regretful, but she smiled in welcome at the trio, and then nodded at Rowen.

"Thanks," she said.

The Changechild sidled off towards the Herald and his companions, and the woman smiled at him. "Welcome back," Rowen said to them, making sure to include the Companion in the greeting. "My name is Rowen shena Tale'sedrin. Can I help you with anything here, or would you like to go to the Palace?"

The Herald smiled too. "I'm Herald Skif," he said in a slightly accented voice. "This is Nyara, my wife, and my Companion Gwena. You're a--"

"Changechild," Rowen said, and the woman's smile got bigger.

"You too?" she said softly, reaching out to touch the barrier between fur and flesh at his waist.

"You're a--" Rowen said, unsure of how to continue, since she looked mostly human except for the eyes.

"I am Nyara," she said. "I was with Karal and the others at Urtho's Tower during the Second Cataclysm. An'desha and I are...more related than most would think."

"But you don't look like a Changechild," Rowen said as the Companion Gwena sauntered off to join a group of Companions heading for the Stables.

She blinked her large, green, slitted eyes at him.

"I was," she said.

_Was_.

His heart leapt.

§

The Haighlei were now housed in the Ambassadors Wing of the Palace three halls down from the Shin'a'in Envoys.

Skif sat back with a sigh, leaning back into the extensive amount of feather pillows he'd managed to trade for with tales of White Gryphon and the Haighlei. The Trainees and the other Heralds were almost obsessively interested in the southern exotic countries and had been happy to trade feather pillows for the stories Skif had had to share.

They'd come back after deciding that the Haighlei effort to contribute to and join the Alliance would be better off with them, and that Skif had been away from Valdemar long enough. For Cymry it had been even worse; the lack of other Companions meant she was very lonely, and with only Skif and the kyree and dyheli to talk to, she'd gotten very bored. And with the lack of male Companions... well, her temper hadn't improved any while they'd been gone, and as far as Skif knew she was getting rather intimate with Rolan in some obscure corner of the Field.

After making sure that she was well-settled and checking on the Haighlei, he and Nyara had wandered off to the Common Room to get some food in them before unpacking.

Now he was relaxed and content and installed in his room in the Herald's Wing--well, his and Nyara's. As though she knew he was thinking about her, Nyara stepped into the room, fresh out of the bathing room down the hall.

"Heyla," she said, grinning.

"Heyla."

She sat on the bed next to him, cuddling into his side. He smiled and put an arm around her, holding her close. She was still warm from the shower and smelled like sage and soap. He thought he could just drift off to sleep when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called, wondering who it was.

The door swung open to reveal a grinning Elspeth and a gently smiling Talia.

Exuberant as always, Elspeth bounded into the room and onto the bed, hugging Skif and Nyara to her chest fiercely while Talia paced into the room a bit more sedately.

Skif sat up through the tangle of Elspeth and Nyara's arms, reaching out to touch Talia's hair tenderly. There were more gray strands among the chestnut now than there had been when he'd left, and he stroked the streaks at her temple, wondering when his yearmate had gotten so old.

"Not so old," Talia said with a smile.

He smiled back, and what tension there had been in the room melted in the face of old friends reunited.

Suddenly the room was full of laughter and smiles, and when Alberich knocked on the doorjamb, the cries of welcome and laughter were that much brighter.

§

Ayize patted down the smooth silk of his Court robes, making sure that it was straight and firm on the wooden hangar that he'd left it hanging on in the closet before closing the door that hid his clothes.

The robes he wore now were elaborate and rich enough to put Dumisai himself to shame, fine as they were.

When Ayize walked out of his assigned suite in what he'd been told was the Ambassador's Wing of the Palace, he didn't simply step out of the room. He stepped _into _a whole new persona, one who was cool enough and complacent enough to withstand a village burning around him, and the young man who'd been waiting outside his door even looked startled as he realized that Ayize had come out. The gray-clad young man performed a perfect Valdemaran bow and requested that the Envoy follow him to be formally presented to Queen Selenay.

Wondering why they would assign a teenager to such an important visitor, Ayize followed the young man through several corridors and hallways until they reached what looked to be a large receiving-room filled with people. The child led him through the room and carefully around select groups of richly-dressed courtiers who whispered as they passed, to the other end of the room where two small thrones waited.

On one sat a golden-haired older woman with much silver in her hair, who wore a simple circlet of gold around her brow. A dark brunette man sat on the other. He too wore a circlet, and both were clad fully in white.

Queen Selenay and her consort, he assumed.

Ayize watched them carefully as he was presented. "Envoy Ayize Mojembe from the Haighlei Empire," the majordomo announced, bowing.

Ayize bowed deeply until his forehead head nearly touched the floor. When he came back up, the Queen was studying him with eyes as blue as those of the Companions in the field that the Portal had led them to.

"Greetings, Envoy Ayize, and welcome to Valdemar." Her speech was clear and pronounced, and when she said her next words, they rang as clear as a bell, regardless of her age. "I hope you enjoy your stay, however long it may be, and please feel free to ask me or any Herald for anything you may need." Her Consort nodded, smiling pleasantly at the Haighlei.

Ayize bowed again and backed away. He melted into the crowd, followed by what he supposed was now his page, the boy in gray.

He would have to request a private audience with the Monarch later and hint that the man who currently sat on the Lion Throne wanted to know if he could help with the war against the Empire.

Whatever it took.


	32. Hill of Hope

Thanks to ShadowCat17, GinaLee, storylistener, Andi, and AmberStag.

Shameless pluggage: If you like Shrek, please go read my seriously-lacking-in-readers Simply Charming. That is all.

* * *

25 years and my life is still  
trying to get up that great big hill of hope  
For a destination  
I realized quickly when I knew I should  
That the world was made up of this  
Brotherhood of man  
For whatever that means 

_4 Non Blondes' What's Goin' On?_

**Chapter 32: Hill of Hope **

:_And tell them that we will help them in any way possible. White Gryphon has given me all of their information on the Empire, and from what I understand, the Empire tried to attack us once before, a long time ago, but they failed and retreated. Now that we border them, it is doubtful that once they have taken the Alliance that they will not attack us. The Council of Kings agrees, and we will send more Envoys and some of the Kaled'a'in shortly before we decide the best way to get our ships to their coast without being seen._:

:_Could we sail around the horn at the bottom of the continent?_: Ayize suggested.

:_Perhaps. But the problem is that they might have some way of detecting us there._:

:_Yes. Yes, Serene One. I understand. I will inform them._:

:_Good. And Ayize, my friend?_:

:_Yes, Serenity?_:

:_Please ensure that you_ eat_. Your voice sounds pale, and you were too thin when you left._: The Black King's mindvoice was rich with worry, and Ayize's chest tightened that the King cared.

:_I will, my Emperor._:

:_Good. I bid you good tidings,_: Sent Dumisai.

:_Goodbye._:

Ayize removed the teleson and looked over at Tafari, who was shuffling through a sheaf of papers that they'd gotten from the Valdemaran library on the Empire, and then he looked at Mwaka. The man was looking through a few of the battle-reports and records that Hardorn had sent with a Courier-Herald, and was frowning as he did so.

"Is there a problem, Mwaka?" Ayize asked.

"No, Envoy," the man said.

"Good. The Emperor has notified me that he has secured full approval from the other Kings for the war against the Empire."

Tafari looked up. "That is wonderful!"

"We must notify the White Queen and request a meeting with her Council," Ayize concluded.

Tafari and Mwaka nodded simultaneously, scrambling to summon a page to petition the Queen for a Council meeting.

§

The Changechild black horse across the table silently eyed Ayize with a raised eyebrow as the Haighlei Ambassador finished detailing what they knew about the Empire.

Under his gaze, Ayize was starting to sweat. "From what we know, the Empire has no navy to speak of," he said trying to phase into the plan that he and the man who sat on the Lion Throne had discussed before sending him off.

"No, they don't," the mage called Sejanes said. "After the establishment of the isthmus to connect this continent to Teral five hundred years ago, there was no need for an army of ships, and they were phased out."

Ayize nodded. "Which is very good. The Haighlei have many ships, most of which are equipped for speed. Many of those also have the ability to go fight as well, though it is not common. And that gives us an advantage that the Empire does not have--the ability to attack from the water. While the capital may be nearer to the border on _this _side of the Empire, we may be able to distract them on the Fury Sea front so you can attack from this side. We can draw their forces to the Sea in a feint that we will invade there, and then you can sweep in from the West and attack." He slapped his fist into his other hand to emphasize, imagining the vast swath of warriors in chased silver armor coming down on the Empire's forces.

"And then what?" the Lord Marshall ventured.

"I--I do not know," Ayize said, faltering as the fantasy vanished. "We assumed that you would have a plan to continue in the event that you managed to penetrate that far into the Empire."

"But we never accounted for that," Queen Selenay said calmly. "We only planned for the event of a massive attack, not the event of something drawing all of their forces away to the East."

"If we can manage to get halfway to the capital, perhaps an assassination squad would be wise," the Changechild suggested eagerly. "I--"

The White Queen spitted him with a glare that could have frozen wine. "No," she said firmly. "You are not going on a suicide mission."

The air fairly crackled with tension, and no one spoke.

_Ah, _Ayize thought, watching Queen Seleney's tired face. _There is some history here. _

"But--" the Changechild began anxiously before the Queen cut him off.

"_No._"

As Ayize watched, the Changechild nodded, glowered and looked down at the table sullenly.

He resolved to find out the Changechild's plan to see if it could be helped.

§

Melles watched dispassionately as the man in front of him flopped and screamed on the floor before the throne. Blood dripped from every orifice; a large pool of it was on the floor around the man already, and still he didn't die.

As the pool widened and the screaming lessened somewhat, a few courtiers dared to venture closer, and the wide eyes of the dying mage fixed upon them and stayed there until they melted into goo that ran down his cheeks.

When the mage finally expired, Melles used a small amount of energy to incinerate the body into charred bones and then beckoned his handlers to dispose of the remnants in a public place in the Castle where the body could be an example.

The man had tried to remove the magical hooks that Melles had placed in every one of his mages and inadvertently activated the trap. The trap that Melles had laid into the very essence of those hooks ensured that one could not remove the hooks as he had Charliss's without dying as the man whose bones were even now being carted out of the room.

A part of Melles' mind was now storing what little death-energy had come out of the man into one of the objects he was using as a storehouse for magic energy. Since the leylines had vanished, Melles had commanded his mages to send at least half of their energy per day into various items scattered around the Castle that were now holding a vast amount of energy.

The rest of their energy was going into keeping the Empire alive and restoring the ways of life and transport. A very little amount was being used to spy on the quiet Alliance, but nothing had come through clearly since his spy in Hardorn had been killed.

Hardorn. His lips curled in a very nasty smile, and he tightened his grip on the arms of the Iron Throne. Hardorn would be destroyed in one month or another. A mass of Melles' army was massing on the border just out of sight of the watchtowers on the borders, and in a few weeks they would be ready to swoop down and destroy every living thing in the country and bring Tremane back to him, _alive_. Any man who disobeyed his orders would be killed just as the mage had.

And then after that, the Alliance would be completely destroyed. Not from the force that destroyed Hardorn, for they would be retreating as fast as possible to avoid Melles' final move.

The move to create a central sea where that piddling country called Valdemar and her allies had been, stretching from the southernmost border of Karse to the mountains they called Icewall.

All of the energy that his mages were pulling from every possible source was going towards this purpose. It would require a circle of mages all working together in a version of the technique used mostly by the West called Final Strike, using the compiled energy here.

The Sea would be deep, and whatever remnants of the countries remained would be flattened and melted, scattered on the sea floor.

Melles amused himself with fleeting thoughts of creating savage, idiotic merfolk to inhabit those structures as a final mockery to the Alliance, and then banished it since he wouldn't be able to watch their antics as he would want to.

It would barely be two months before they had all of the energy that they needed, and when all was said and done, Lake Evendim that had once been the palace of Kiyamvir Ma'ar would look like a firework resulting in a puddle. It was a pity that he couldn't get the ancient devices that surely remained both there and in the Mage of Silence's ancient sanctuaries, but the latter would soon be in one of the deeper parts of the Sea, and it was said that dangerous creatures warped by magic hunted around what remained of Ma'ar's home. Perhaps excavating that would be an option if those predators decided to explore the Central Sea once everything was underwater.

A Central Sea would be all that remained of the Alliance, and soon after _that_ he would go after the Haighlei Empire, and they would be reduced to a double handful of savage tribes that they had been once upon a time.

Then he would rule the entire continent, from Teral in the East, to the North and the warring barbarians there, to the south where the Haighlei were, and then finally to the unexplored Far West.

But first, Hardorn.

Melles would destroy Tremane once and for all, and then he would rule the entire known world.

He chuckled and released his grip on the throne.

When he looked down, there were indentations on the metal that hadn't been there before. He peered closer and was surprised to discover still-molten iron pooled in the bottom. Melles examined his fingertips and found that they were glowing slightly.

His power was growing.


	33. And We Keep Dreamin'

Thanks accorded to ShadowCat 17, Herald Kahlan, and AmberStag.

We're winding down to the end. Circles of Change ends at Chapter 37, and then I may or may not choose to do a sequel, which would most likely be shorter. It will be called Circles of Blood (Blood referencing 'kin,' not bloodmages or the red stuff that tastes like a penny that comes out of you if you get run over by a bicycle).

And if you like what I've written here, you might like my other novels, which you can find on my new homepage (see my main author page). Kitsune, Snow Angel, and Land of the Lepii are the ones that have never been seen here before. I'm sure you'll enjoy them, and please feel free to comment on the bottoms of the pages while you're there.

_Kitsune_ is the story of an alien invader who comes to Earth on a mission to prepare it to be conquered so part of his race could move there from the overburdened planets they'd subjugated before, but while on Earth he discovers a few startling things that have been hidden on the planet, among them a unique young woman named Morgan.

_Snow Angel_ - Matthew Hart is a man on a mission. A mission to find the father who vanished thirty years ago in a snowstorm. After departing from sunny South Florida to the icy regions of the United States-Canada border and beyond, Matt begins to realize that his father might not have been what he'd said, and that there might be things about himself that could be rather supernatural in origin. When a journalist gets tangled up in the mess, the hunt for his father turns into a hunt for the Snow Angel, and things only get riskier. A bounty hunter joins the chase along lonely interstates stretching from New York to Michigan to across the Canadian border, and unfortunately for Matt, there's a large chance that his father's time may run out before Matt can ever reach him.

_Land of the Lepii_ is a sardonic take on the answer of giant, maneating rabbits to the current immigration problem in the form of a tongue-in-cheek news article written for "The Onion".

**_Thoughts: 32 people watch this story, and I've been noticing that I've been getting fewer reviews each chapter. I realize that might be because of the seven-month lag between chapters a few months back, but it could be because the story is going downhill in terms of quality and plot. I'm not asking for reviews. I'm asking for an answer as to if this has begun to suck. Thank you. _**

* * *

And we keep dreamin' of a world  
Where all that's good so we were told  
We need a hero  
And we keep dreamin' of a time  
Where good is all that we can find  
We need a...  
We need a...  
Hero  
_Aaron Waters' We Need A Hero _

**Chapter 33: And We Keep Dreaming**

Rowen was, by now, at the very end of his wits and patience.

"No," he said plaintively, though the 'no's that had come beforehand hadn't seemed to have much effect on Selenay.

He began anew. "I _need_ to be with whatever team attacks the Empire from the Fury Sea. I can travel almost as fast and as long as any Herald, and I'm better trained. Kerowyn can train the students to be one with their Companions, but in a fight I'm better, faster, and I have the advantage of being unknown to the Empire and as terrifying as any of their Changecreatures. I _am _the upper hand we need over Melles; I can be into his Castle and out again before anyone will know what happened."

Not _quite _the truth. Rowen wasn't that unobtrusive; any Cold Blade could be more stealthy and quiet with a blade in hand and a mission to complete, and the Warrior knew he himself had enough money to hire one, but Selenay and Daren would _never _agree to any sort of assassin that wasn't of the Heralds. He didn't know if Selenay had a personal assassin, per se, but chances were even if she did, _he _would never know about it.

But he needed to be with the team that took out the Emperor, if there was one. He could be the team himself. And then come back out, whole and alive, for once Melles was gone, the rest of the Empire would crumble while the Empire's army was distracted on one front while the Haighlei cleaned up the rest of the vast nation from the other side. If they could disable communications, that would be even better. By the time the officers in charge of the Army realized what had happened, they would be surrounded, and the Emperor and all mages that Tremane had marked as possible men to take over the Iron Throne would all be dead.

Hopefully from there the Army would disperse, and then Valdemar would be safe at long last.

Unfortunately Selenay couldn't see that he was the best man for the job, and his private audience with her--her last of the night--had stretched from a few minutes to nearly two candlemarks now. It had done so precisely because he couldn't exactly shout his convictions at the ruler of the country he sheltered in, though he dearly longed to, so his words lacked the usual compelling force and vehemence behind them. And so the argument drew further out.

"You are _conspicuous,_" Selenay said. "You are obvious, easily spotted, and cannot change your appearance. Any peasant would be able to identify you."

"But peasants don't have to see me," Rowen pointed out. He could travel at night and through the mountains, and forage in the orchards in the foothills when he needed to.

"_Someone_ will. And I do not condone assassination squads when they are not completely necessary."

_Necessary? Melles is insane. _Sure that this next point would change the Queen's opinion, he said, "Elspeth and Darkwind assassinated Ancar."

"Ancar was mad," Selenay retorted. "He was a very real threat and very damaging to the Western Border. Nothing was going to stop him."

"And nothing is going to stop Melles. He is attacking Hardorn. Hardorn is our ally. It's only a matter of time before he starts for Karse. As Valdemar and through our treaties, we are bound to--"

"_Our _treaties?" Selenay asked, eyebrow arched. "You are not a citizen of Valdemar, Rowen shena Tale'sedrin."

"But," Rowen spluttered. Had he really meant to say 'our'? He wasn't a citizen of Valdemar; just a wandering strange Shin'a'in who didn't really want to go back to the Plains.

"As for the matter of the treaties themselves," Selenay said, the temperature of her voice dropping significantly. "They are treaties drawn up and authorized by my Heralds and Ambassadors when they are not directly written by me. The treaty with King Tremane of Hardorn allows him to ask for troops when he feels that they are needed and for his people to seek refuge here should the unthinkable occur with the Empire. _That _is what we agreed on, and _that _is what will occur. Anything separate from that concerning the Empire or your going there will be my jurisdiction and decision, _not_ yours."

"That's unreasonable!" Rowen exclaimed, fighting not to whip his tail in frustration.

Selenay looked up at him, eyes worn and weary with age and war. "It is my country and I am its ruler, and as long as you live in my country you shall abide by the rules of Valdemar. Should you choose to fight the Empire on your own, you will do it on your own time and expense, and use none of mine nor that of my allies."

She paused for a moment, caught in a look that said she was clearly listening to her Companion. While her eyes were far away, the expression on her face changed from being haggard to somnolent, and then she focused on him and lowered her voice. "If you choose to fight on your own front, I cannot control that, nor can I directly allow it. In that case, I will have to overlook it, and you will not be able to ask me for aid should you need it."

_Is she giving me permission?_ Rowen thought. The steady look she was giving him intensified, and for a moment he thought he could see the boundless wisdom of a Companion behind them. Was Caryo looking through her eyes?

Yes, he decided. He now had the tacit permission of his chief opponent, but he was going to have to handle his plans quietly and quickly.

"May I assume that you still oppose my plans?" he asked for the mere show of it.

"Yes," she said, rising. "And I shall whenever you bring it up in Council. I suggest you do not do so again."

He sighed--both from relief that the argument was over--and relief that they could both seek their beds.

Rowen rose from his kneeling position as well, according her that respect and more that he dared not show. "Thank you for your time, Majesty."

There was a knock at the door, and Herald Daren stuck his head in. "Selenay, I believe it's time for you to rest now."

Selenay nodded, then looked at Rowen in a clear dismissal.

The Shin'a'in took the hint and showed himself out, nodding once at the Prince-Consort.

There was no one in the corridors of the Palace as he navigated them, save for a few pages and a lone Herald near the Great Hall, and he left the Palace to meander down to the ekele under a cool night sky full of stars.

He reached the ekele without problem; all the Companions were clustered in bunches around the Field, dozing quietly or floating along the grass like quiet ghosts.

There was no one in the ekele when he arrived--who would be at this hour?--but the soft notes of an unfamiliar tune drifted through the garden, soothing his tired nerves and giving him a little more strength.

He followed the gentle chords of the song until he found a red-garbed musician sitting cross-legged next to the stream running through the garden, gently plucking at the gittern.

"Julian, what are you doing up?"

"I wanted to wait for you," the Bard said quietly, dragging a fingertip down the strings in a dark glissando.

"Why?"

"It was quiet and I couldn't sleep."

The brook wasn't exactly noisy, but the soft sound of burbling, splashing water still covered the sound of barely audible notes being picked out on the fingerboard.

"Are you tired now?" Rowen asked, gazing down at the mess of blonde hair.

"Are you?"

"A bit."

"Then sleep."

Rowen sighed, looking around into the sere and verde coloring of the flora around them. There was nothing there but plants, not that he expected to see anything at all. He glanced back down at Julian and tired blind eyes under tangled golden hair now met his searching eyes.

That clouded blue gaze looked both past and through him, and Rowen traced the scar across Julian's face with his eyes.

_What are you seeing? _

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to not think for a moment, and was interrupted by a hand reaching up to grasp his own.

_How does he _do _that?_

Rowen opened his eyes to see Julian's hand holding his fingertips; not pulling or tugging. Just holding.

He obliged and knelt, then folded his legs under him so his underbelly rested on the ground, and Julian was only a handbreadth away.

After a moment, Julian let the gittern rest entirely in his lap and sighed. He slowly, surely leaned back into Rowen's chest, obviously trusting that Rowen wasn't going to bolt.

_And I'm not, _Rowen promised both himself and Julian.

The hand that had been holding Rowen's tightened and wove so that now their fingers were interlaced, connected in a way that the two of them could never be.

Rowen had to fight from groaning. _Huh. Trust me to think of _that_ at a time like this. _

He moved his other arm around to loop around Julian's chest, securing the Bard to himself.

Julian's shoulders rose and sagged as he sighed again, and then Rowen felt him go still as the man slipped into sleep.

_Did he wait up all this time for me? _

His lifebonded partner snuggled in closer, pulling Rowen's arm tighter.

It was at that point when Rowen was almost getting comfortable when he realized something that made his blood run cold and his flesh quiver into goosepimples.

What was going to happen to Julian when he left to kill Melles?

What if he died? Julian would surely follow him; he'd said as much on the rooftop of the castle in Shonar.

Oh Gods. He fought the urge to groan and wake Julian up.

Instead, he rose with a bare scuff of hoof or fur against skin, lifting Julian and the gittern easily, intending to bring the man into the corner "room" of the ekele that was his own. There was no gittern case near the stream; it was probably upstairs, and Julian could put the instrument away tomorrow when he awoke.

He shuffled through the grass around the paths, not wanting the sharp sounds of his hooves on the paved walkway to wake up the sleeping Bard in his arms, and quietly made his way to his room.

Rowen stopped dead in the doorway, eyes wide. There was a bed obviously made up for a human next to his own pile of mattresses that he sprawled upon at night, and the gittern case was laid out next to it, open and waiting for the instrument cradled in Julian's arms.

_What--how did he--_

Rowen tried in earnest not to curse. _Does he intend to sleep in all honesty right next to me? _

The Changechild exhaled hard through his nostrils, shook his head and continued into the room. He laid Julian down on the bed first, easing him down so gently, then took the gittern from his unresisting hands. He carefully followed by memory all of the times he'd seen Julian take out and put away the gittern--which was, frankly, not much--and put the instrument away quickly and quietly.

After he'd stalled as long as he could, he turned back to the beds and tucked Julian in. He couldn't help but smile at the action, and then turned to his own bed, carefully stepping in and around the Bard before lying down and closing his eyes.


	34. The Sun is Casting Shadows

Thanks to: Niana Kuonji, because she's the only one who reviewed the last chapter. 

Notes: The beginning of this chapter was in no way, shape, or form taken from Magic's Price. It was just the natural continuation of the end of last chapter. Neither was Melles' plan to turn Valdemar and company into a crater filled with water. I just thought that was a neat way to KO everything Misty loves and cares about.

And please, for the love of whatever you find holy, review!

**Attn: there is now self-produced horrible fanart up on my Deviantart page under Scraps. My username is Silverstrings. Go and see it and groan at my horrid drawing skills! That is all. **

This chapter was written while listening to soundtracks from _Shadow of the Colossus_ and _Chrono Trigger_.

* * *

The sun is casting shadows  
an afternoon is fading  
I ask, but no one knows  
the answer to the question  
my life is like an island  
where does this ocean go?  
_Yoko Kanno's Where Does This Ocean Go?_

**Chapter 34: The Sun is Casting Shadows**

Rowen awoke from an uneasy sleep punctured by incessant bouts of wakefulness, and when he rose from his bedding, he noticed that Julian was still asleep.

A growl threatened to rise from his throat when he realized how peaceful the Bard looked, curled upon the pallet and warmed by the thought of who knew what.

He removed himself from the room to go clean up in the bath in the center of the ekele, then took himself off for some breakfast in the dining hall.

He managed to get a palatable meal of a large serving of vegetables and a huge bowl of porridge and brought it to a table in the corner to enjoy it.

The potage was halfway gone when a shadow imposed itself across the bowl, turning the mixture a pale gray.

_Julian?_

"Horseman. Didn't think I'd see you again." Standing over the bench on the other side of the table was Shored. Well, Shored and presumably Tenri and Jaron.

"Shored?"

Green eyes shaded with a hint of what looked like relief blinked, then the corners of his mouth curved up in a slight, tight smile as he said in Valdemaran, "No. It's me, Jaron."

The boy had grown at least four inches since Rowen had seen him last. "Ah."

Silence reigned, then Jaron dropped down onto the bench on the other side of the table.

Curious glances that had been thrown their way by Trainees stopped quickly when Jaron looked around. There hadn't been any menacing or threatening expression on his face or in his eyes, but the students had found something else to look at very quickly.

"They're all afraid of me," Jaron said dully, setting down a plate of pancakes.

"Why?"

"I'm a freak. I've got two other people living in my head. You don't think that's a little creepy?" Jaron asked, eyes flashing, daring Rowen to say something.

"Creepy, yes. Scary--not quite unless you decide to throw knives around again."

Jaron refused to meet his eyes, and Rowen realized that that was _exactly _what had happened.

"I got caught up in a memory flash," he said. "The Healers call them flashbacks, and they're awful. I never know where I am or what I'm doing while I'm in them, and when I come out I'm always screaming and sometimes there are knives dancing in the air. Sometimes it happens when I'm in class, and I can't--I can't control it, and it's _so hard_."

"I know," Rowen murmured, though he really didn't know.

Jaron continued. "And they stare. All the time. Gaelan says it will stop, but as long as the flashbacks continue they'll all be afraid of me."

"I can't really help you there. Have they met Shored and Tenri?"

"Tenri's afraid of everyone here, and I'm afraid to let him out even if he wanted too. You know how he...gets..." Jaron mimed touching his own lips, then hugged himself.

Rowen nodded. "I can see how that would be a problem." _Was he always this aware, this intelligent? _Jaron _had_ been created at this age, but obviously he had developed in more than body while he'd been at Haven.

"I don't know about Shored. I would assume he's using the body when I'm not, but he hasn't really said much about Haven. I think he spends most of his time with Gaelan anyway; whenever he gives the body back I'm always outside in the Field with him."

"How are you settling in?"

"Well enough, I think."

"Your grasp of Valdemaran has improved," Rowen noted.

"Gee, thanks. Gaelan had one of the not-deer put language and memories into my head of what I had to do to fit in here." He paused. "It gave me a rather big headache, and the fitting-in part didn't help."

Jaron sighed. "I don't like it much here, but there's nowhere else for me. I can't go back to the Empire, and even if I could I would never give up Gaelan."

Rowen didn't know much about Heralds and didn't really care to find out, but he knew enough to know that that simple sentence was good. At least he's got that. And that shows that he is in fact accepting the fact that Gaelan is his partner now.

As Rowen watched, Jaron gave him a long glance. "Shored's coming," he said faintly, then the Changechild watched in astonishment as the boy's eyes changed from jade-green to amethyst, and without a word, Shored began to dig into the plate that Jaron had left entirely untouched. After a few moments of watching him wolf down food, Rowen ventured a quiet, "Shored?"

The boy looked up, a piece of flapjack edge dangling from his lips. He slurped it in then smiled at Rowen. "Hi Lord Rowen."

_Lord?_

"The food is really good here," Shored said. "Have you tried it?"

Rowen gestured at his own bowl, left alone since Jaron had sat down. It was probably growing cold, and he hated to waste food.

He dug in with a vigor he didn't feel, keeping one wary eye on Shored. While he somewhat trusted Jaron and his maturity and hold on the body, Shored didn't have that much of a grip on who controlled their actions, and Tenri could come through at any moment.

Rowen shuddered at the thought of the ruined child, who had not so long ago tried to seduce him, and lost more of his appetite. He spooned up more of the congealing porridge, determined to finish all of it and leave.

Shored continued to eat like the young child he mentally was, and the stares from around the dining hall began anew once people realized that Jaron was gone.

When there was nothing left in Rowen's bowl of porridge but the dregs, he started in on the vegetables, and bolted them down so fast that he was sure he'd be sick later. Carrots, celery, lettuce, potatoes, tomatoes; he swallowed them as fast as he could chew, then ate more.

Plate empty, Rowen sighed a little gustily.

"You are done?" Shored stared in awe at Rowen's dishes, then jumped up despite his remaining pancakes and two apples. "I am done too!"

_No..._ Rowen suppressed a groan and stood up, picking up his bowl and plate. The silverware was already inside. "I have some things I need to do," he lied, and Shored turned puppy eyes on him.

"But I can help. Please let me help?"

"I don't know if you can really--"

"Please?" Shored's eyes at this angle looked almost like Nadar's, and Rowen's stomach lurched.

"Alright," he scowled. "But stop looking at me like that."

Shored smiled, then grabbed his own plate. He started walking toward the window to deposit his own dishes, then turned his head to look at Rowen.

The Changechild didn't move. _I do _not _want to be around this child,_ he thought miserably. Then his attention was caught by his dishes lifting out of his hands and drifting over to Shored, who grabbed them out of the air, giggling. He turned to bring them to the window as Rowen stood next to the table, bemused.

That power...

His sensitive ears caught a few snatches of whispers around the room.

"Kernos' Balls, did you see _that?_"

And, "Yeah, but he seems very friendly. Right?"

"But that scary boy lives inside his head."

"Yeah, I heard he's not sane."

"Do you think he might just finally lose it and kill us all?"

"I heard he made knives out of nothing the other day in Religions."

And, "Well _I _heard he's stuck like that."

"Stuck like what?"

"Stuck at that age in his mind."

"What?!"

"Yeah, something about severe emotional trauma."

"Oh."

"Go ask him about it."

"_You _go ask him about it!"

"I'm not going near him!"

"So why should I?"

Shored came back, then led Rowen out of the room, seemingly oblivious to the glances and whispers.

"I do hate it in there," he said conversationally as they walked along the corridor leading away from the dining hall. Several Healer Trainees that had been walking towards them laughing quieted and looked down until they had passed.

"I don't think Shored minds all the stares that much, but they drive me up the wall."

"Huh?"

"I said, I don't think he minds that much. He's just a kid--"

"Jaron, do you think you could you warn me a little next time you're going to pop up, please?" Rowen asked.

"Fine."

They continued in silence for a little bit, then Jaron bit his lip. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away," Rowen said. It wasn't really like he had anywhere to be or anything do to, despite what he'd told Tenri.

"How do you... how do you tell a girl you like her?" Jaron asked, blushing furiously.

Rowen almost laughed. "Why? Do you like someone?"

"She's a Herald-Trainee, like me," Jaron explained. "Her name is Sharise, and she's very pretty. She's the only one who is willing to talk to me."

"Have you asked Gaelan about it?" Rowen asked, thinking that these were questions that he really didn't want to get into in case it didn't work out for the boy.

"He said that he was above such things, and that he didn't really know how to help me."

_He wouldn't_, Rowen thought sourly.

"Your teachers?"

"I don't think they like me."

_Oh, Kal'enel.  
_  
"Well," he began. "Do you know if she likes you?"

"I don't know how to tell."

"This could take a while..."

o

"I don't think the addition of more troops onto the border is going to strengthen our hold in any way," the Lord Marshall observed. "Pulling more troops from around the country is just going to weaken areas that need protecting. The Border is secure."

"But we _need _to show the Empire that we're not just a paltry--"

Herald Reshan entered the room not a little quickly, moving immediately to Herald Kyril's side. She leaned down and whispered something into Kyril's ear, and the Speaker went white. "Majesty, I believe we need to move this into the Great Hall.

"Why?" Lady Ophelia demanded. "There is no poin--"

"The King of Hardorn is at our gates, and as a King he requires a royal welcoming," Kyril snapped.

Ophelia went ashen, and Selenay stood. "This meeting is adjourned for the day."

She swept out of the room, Daren, Kyril, and Reshan hot on her heels.

Rowen blinked. The King of Hardorn was _here?_

o

"And so if we move _here _and _here_, we should be able to catch that part of the divided Army in a pincer, and then if the Haighlei move around _here_, the rest of the Army should move like _so_, and then we can--"

Tremane watched Selenay nod, and then the Lord Marshall reached out to adjust a piece.

"As it is, the Haighlei will need at least two weeks to move their ships up the coast and be in a position to launch an attack, and then we can try to intimidate the Empire into surrender."

"Why not just use a Gate?" Tremane suggested, and most of the people at the table turned to stare at him like he was some sort of idiot.

"A Gate," one of the Blue Mountain mage-teachers stated flatly.

Tremane nodded.

"Are you _mad?_" the man asked. "One mage can barely open one small Gate in a fixed location nowadays. You want to use a Gate to transport an entire _fleet _of Haighlei ships from one ocean to another?"

"Why not?" Tremane asked. "It's plausible."

"It can be done," said the Haighlei Ambassador.

Tremane's question to him was lost in a flurry of questions from other people around the table about where, when, and how it could be done.

Tremane raised his hands for silence, and the table quieted.

"There is an arch that used to be part of an ancient harbor near the coastal city of Lastana. I saw it once when I was traveling with my Mentor, and it was one of the first places I worked on Gating." He could still see it in his mind's eye; a huge arch built out of a sea cliff wall, impressive in both height and lack of erosion. Even from the shore he could still see some of what original carving hadn't been worn away by the constant flow of the wind and the tides.

"I never saw an arch like that," the Hardorn mage Senek said. When Tremane looked at him, he flushed and remembered that while Tremane had once been a colleague and the leader of a small town in a snowbound, monster-infested country, he was now the King of Hardorn.

"It's alright," Tremane said. "It was hidden in a large cliff wall south on the coast. I believe it may have been connected to the ancient kingdom of Telonia, since they were primarily a seagoing kingdom."

"So?" Councilor Wythern huffed.

"So they were also impressive builders of harbors. Many of their structures still stand along the Eastern coast of the Empire. The arch I am considering is a very sturdy arch and has stood for more than three thousand years. It wasn't built or preserved using magic and it should have stayed steady during the mage storms. One of my Farseers can check."

"And if it's still there?" Selenay asked, looking interested.

"Then the Haighlei can sail through it and attack the Empire from the East, saving crucial time it would take for them to sail around the Horn."

"Can you build a Gate that large?"

Tremane paused. Could they?

The Haighlei Ambassador spoke. "We can."

"But the logistics--it's impossible!" Darkwind exclaimed, looking both alarmed and intrigued. "It can't be done!"

"It can and it will be," the man named Ayize said levelly. "As long as King Tremane can see it in his mind, we can build it."

"But," the Blue Mountain mage said weakly. "It's impossible."

"It is not."


	35. In the Air Tonight

Thanks to Niana Kuonji, Amber Stag, Storylistener, GinaStar, and ShadowCat17.

Oh, and ShadowCat17--that was a typo. I originally wrote it for Tenri to pop up and I think I tried to imply that he was there for like a split second, but I must not have clarified it. My bad.

And please don't forget to read and review, and then check out my new website.

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Well I remember  
I remember don't worry  
How could I ever forget  
It's the first time  
The last time  
We ever met  
But I know the reason why you keep me silenced up  
No you don't fool me  
Cause the hurt doesn't show  
But the pain still grows  
It's no stranger to you and me 

I can feel it  
Coming in the air tonight  
Oh Lord  
I've been waiting for this moment  
For all my life  
Oh Lord, Oh Lord  
_Nonpoint's In the Air Tonight _

**Chapter 35: In the Air Tonight **

Brackish water splashed his face as Julian leaned forward on the deck railing.

This was the first time he had ever been near the ocean, let alone on it, and it was vast. All he had been able to hear for the last two days had been waves and seabirds, and not even too many of those. His only companions were the creak of wood and rigging and the rhythmic slapping of wood on water as the oars plunged into the water to move the ship when the winds died.

He, Rowen, Tremane and several mages from Valdemar had Gated to one of the ships in the Haighlei fleet, which was even now headed for the Gating site that would take them to the far side of the Empire.

As far as he knew, the attacks had begun as planned. Half the armies of Karse, Valdemar, Hardorn, and Iftel moved up to the Borders of the Empire while the civilians near the Borders were evacuated to as far east as they wanted to go. The rest of the armies were moved to reinforce the borders and spread throughout the land to keep order.

The army units stationed on the Border responded immediately to the appearance of what looked like an all-out attack, calling in reinforcements which the FarSeers said would arrive within a week.

Tremane would provide the terminus-site for the Gate, and then he would Gate from there to somewhere unspecified. Julian didn't know where it was, but he'd noticed that Selenay had Felt extremely unsettled when Tremane refused to mention where he was going.

Now Tremane was cloistered with one of the Empiric-Hardornen mages in one of the cabins, discussing things that Julian would rather not know.

He hadn't seen Rowen since they'd arrived on the ship; the Changechild couldn't move about too well on the deck, and had shut himself up belowdecks until they found dry land. The last time Julian had seen him he'd been fighting nausea in a corner of the hold.

Julian sighed and pushed himself away from the ocean's spray, carefully making his way down the railing until he could cross over to the half-open huge hatch that led down into the compartment that Rowen was sheltering in.

He climbed down the ladder leading down, and Rowen reached up to help him down the last few rungs before he slipped, and then the Shin'a'in retreated back into the corner.

"How are you holding on?" Julian asked.

All he got in answer was a groan.

"Are you okay?"

"I think moving was a mistake," Rowen moaned. His voice sounded very rough, and there was a sickly-sweet smell in the air that made Julian's stomach lurch in sympathy.

He unsteadily made his way over towards Rowen before dropping onto the pile of pillows Rowen was resting in.

The scent of vomit was stronger here, and Julian reached around for his partner. His hand came in contact with hot flesh, and even as Rowen's muscles tensed under his palm, he began sending out gentle waves of calm. Slowly, Rowen Felt more at ease with the situation, and Julian reluctantly pulled his hand away.

"We'll probably be at the Gating site in a few hours," he said quietly.

He didn't know exactly what Rowen was planning, and he wanted to know desperately.

Without much enthusiasm, he asked. "What will you do when we get over there?"

"What do you mean?" There was an edge to Rowen's voice that Julian didn't need Empathy to sense.

"What you're going to do over there," Julian said. "To get Melles, I mean."

"Why would you think I'd be doing that?" Rowen asked.

"It's been your life's mission ever since Nadar--ever since you were Sworn," Julian said. "How are you going to get to where he is?"

Rowen didn't say anything for a long moment, and when Julian was sure he'd deeply offended the Shin'a'in, he finally spoke. "I don't know."

"You don't know what you're going to do to kill him?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I guess I'm just going to do whatever I can for as long as I can to get to his Castle. Then I'll burn him out."

"Oh."

Pause.

"I'm not really fond of your plan..."

"I didn't think you would be."

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Julian asked. There had to be something--anything--he could do to improve Rowen's chances.

"I don't know," Rowen said. "I didn't think that you would want to help..."

"Of course I would!" Julian exclaimed loudly, then quieted. "I may not like what you want to do, but if it takes everything I have to get you to survive, then I'll give it."

"Oh, Julian," Rowen said, and Julian felt a wave of something he couldn't quite identify seep through his shields.

"Rowen? Come on," Julian urged, moving closer.

"I'll help you in any way I can," he pleaded. "Just _let _me. Just let me help you survive."

He reached out and placed his hands on Rowen's bare shoulders.

Heat radiated off the Changechild like a kiln, and Julian felt some of that heat sink into his own body, warming and relaxing him.

"I'll help you," he repeated. "Please."

Rowen placed his own hands on Julian's.

"Please," he croaked. "Help me."

The feel of Rowen under and over his hands was too much, and without any feelings of helplessness or remorse, he pulled Rowen's head around and kissed him. Hard.

His hands slid around Rowen's shoulders to draw him close.

And in the Southern Sea, in the bed of a Haighlei warship, Julian spent a few precious, nervous, joyful hours before the final war alone with his lifebonded.

o

Tremane braced himself at the railing of the last ship, linked with the other mages and grappling to twist the energy they were feeding him into a Gate that would send them to the Telonian arch on the Fury Sea. Normally a lintel for the Gate wouldn't have been necessary, but a Gate this large had never been attempted before. And possibly wouldn't be again, if this went wrong.

He manipulated the energy, sending it into the hastily-constructed arch of trees over the mouth of a deep river that was going to serve as the Gate-primordium.

The view of trees and blue river flashed white and vanished as Tremane sent out tendrils seeking that Other Place that was so clear in his mind.

A not-quite vista of crashing waves and dark skies appeared between the trees, and one by one the Haighlei ships began to move toward it.

It took almost a half-candlemark for all of the ships to move through the Gate, and by the end of it Tremane wanted to die. He knew realistically that sixty ships couldn't make it through in less time, but the strain was building.

Finally, his ship finally began to move to the linked trees, and the bow slowly cruised through the Gate, and the grey clouds and turbulent water swallowed the ship.

The familiar sensation of falling, differed this time now that he was on a giant object going through a Gate, and then the slap of rougher waves and a new wind that threatened to blow the ship into the sharp cliffs.

Yelling and cursing filled the air as the oarsmen had to steer the ship quickly and expertly to avoid the jagged rocks at the base of the cliffs, and Tremane watched, paralyzed, as they skimmed the very base of the cliffs, rocks a mere handsbreadth from the deck railing.

The ship cleared the rocks and came around a jagged outcropping of rock and joined the other ships. As they neared, Tremane noticed that several of the other ships had long, deep grazes along the hulls from the rocks.

Tremane ceased the flow of energy that fed the Gate behind them and watched as the view of a calm, sunny estuary vanished, to be replaced by worn rocks and dark water.

Wonder filled his heart for a scant moment as he stared up at the ancient arch, carvings still visible after three thousand years of wind and water and salt, and he remembered weaving the threads of a Gate on this very loom of a frame before moving onto Gates without a Structure.

He turned to the mage named Wethys. "Remember the shielding spells I taught you," he said, and Wethys' face shimmered and Tremane's own looked back at him.

"Yes, Majesty," Wethys said.

Tremane turned and gestured at the doorframe of the low cabin. Making the Gate was easier this time, and he looked out at the view of his old duchy on the Hardorn Border.

"Good luck," he threw back over his shoulder as he stepped through.

The grass was much more overgrown than he would have liked, but it made it much easier for him to make his way to the door of his manor. There were no guards around; he mused on that for only a minute before releasing a little sigh of annoyance that his underlings had let the estate fall so far in his absence.

The door boomed hollowly when he knocked on it, and it took nearly a minute for the pattering of feet on the other side to become clear as someone hastened to the door.

There was a long, loud creak of unoiled and disused metal as the door was pulled open, and then as the light fell through the open door into the dim, fusty hallway, a scream announced his arrival.

The maid had fainted dead away into the thin layer of dust on the floor. A scant few seconds later, Tremane's old seneschal came running into the hallway.

He, too, took more than a slight surprise at the sight of his former master, but to his credit he did not lose consciousness.

"My Lord," he gasped. "We all--my Lord, it is not safe for you here!" he grabbed Tremane's arm and pulled him inside, shoving the heavy door closed as fast as he could.

"Well, Gerthwin, it seems that you haven't exactly forgotten your respect," Tremane remarked dryly as the man hastened to remove Tremane's travelling-cloak.

"No, my Lord," Gerthwin said. "But sire--we thought you were dead!"

"Not dead," Tremane said. "Merely relocated and instated elsewhere." He ran a hand over his head. "But what has happened here? My land is in a state of extreme disrepair!"

"My apologies," Gerthwin said. He didn't babble, but he did sound deeply apologetic. "The hired guards ran off, and then there were several problems with hobgoblins and the like before Emperor Melles reinstated order, and several people left or were killed."

"What about the maids?" Tremane asked, looking pointedly at the floor. "I thought they were loyal to me."

"They were," the seneschal said. "But they've recently taken sick."

_I have a very little amount of time and very large amount of things to do here, _Tremane remembered wistfully as he looked around the once-familiar entrance hall.

"Gerthwin, please assemble everyone fit to move or be moved in the main hall. I have something that needs to be said, and I'm going to need everyone's help."

Little more than a quarter of a candlemark later, the entire staff was gathered in the biggest room in the manor, and Tremane was the focus of nearly three dozen pairs of eyes.

"Right," he barked suddenly, making at least three people jump. "Some of you may know where I've been for the last few years. Before I tell you, I wish to commend and thank you for upkeeping the estate the way it has been. I know you could have all left at any point, but you stayed, and I am thankful for that." While everyone was still mulling over the thanks, Tremane startled them again. "I have been in Hardorn. I was assigned there as the Emperor's favorite to inherit the Iron Throne, but while I was there we were cut off from the Empire and no attempts were made to assist us. During that time we were forced to fend for ourselves, and at the tail end of things, I was established as the new King of Hardorn."

Gasps permeated the room, and several people in the front made awkward bows.

"I have come back from Hardorn to ask for your help. Emperor Melles is insane. He is on a rampage to destroy everything that is not of the Empire, and all the free countries to the West want to do is remain as they are: free. I have no doubt that given the chance, he would have killed everyone in this room if he realized that it would hurt me. He must be removed from the Throne. He is throwing all of the resources and good men of the Empire onto the Western Borders, and he is draining the economy to the point where the Empire will collapse under it's own weight. It is not evident yet, but in a few months time it will be to the point where we will be in the same state we were during the Mage Storms."

He paused. "Melles must be removed from the Throne."

No one said anything.

Tremane cleared his throat. "Please. I need your help to do this. You must convince all of your relatives to either help me oppose him. If you do not wish to do that, you are welcome to flee to Hardorn by whatever means you can. My country is open to all refugees."

Still, no one uttered a word.

Bowed by the uncomfortable silence, Tremane left the room slowly, stately, and defeated.

o

Rowen had no idea what Tremane thought he was doing, but the man posing as him was doing an abominable job of it. Despite the constant nausea, the deception was as obvious to Rowen as a Shin'a'in warsteed found off the Plains.

He smelled, walked, and acted like his old self--not like the Hardornen King at all. Rowen supposed the man was supposed to be a decoy for anyone on the coast scrying onto the ships, but that didn't change the fact that he was a horrible actor.

And the fact that Rowen knew that his name was Wethys, and he was a mage fully capable of Gating without outside power.

When it looked like they were nearing the coast, and the Haighlei were arming themselves, Rowen cornered the man disguised as Tremane in his cabin.

"I need you to Gate me to Crag Castle," Rowen said, closing the door behind him quietly after squeezing through the door.

"What?" Wethys-Tremane asked, eying the fully-armed Changechild.

"I know you're not Tremane," Rowen said. "And I need you to build me a Gate to Crag Castle."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to kill Melles, because I'll expose you if you refuse, and because I'll make the rest of this war hell for you if you don't."

Wethys just stared at him, and then started chuckling.

"You really want to kill him, don't you?" the man asked, smiling.

"Yes," Rowen growled. For the Shin'a'in. For Valdemar. For Julian, and for peace.

"What will you give me?"

"Whatever I can," Rowen said instantly.

"Your word that you will kill him is good."

"You have my word."

Wethys' hands began moving and twisting, and the door to the privy opened on its own as the air between it warped and twisted somehow, making Rowen's stomach turn more.

In a matter of seconds, the view seen through the door was not one of the cleanest privies that Rowen had ever seen, but a stone corridor lit by only one flickering torch.

"This is the dungeons," Wethys said. "It's the only place that I've been in the Castle that will probably be abandoned."

"Thank you," Rowen breathed.

He stepped through the Gate.

_I'm sorry, Julian. Loving you was my final gift to you. Maybe one day we can see each other again._

After he'd lurched through what felt like an interminable amount of space and time, he landed on a smooth stone floor. He turned around to signal to Wethys to close the Gate, but froze.

The door to the cabin was open, and several Haighlei warriors were pushing through. They shoved through the Gate, barely staggering as they landed, and Wethys yelled something that Rowen couldn't make out.

The Gate began to unravel.

A dim form appeared in the doorway, and before Rowen could do anything, Julian lunged through the closing Gate.

o

"What do you mean the entire Northern Border is rebelling?" Melles roared.

_Please, by the Hundred Little Gods, don't kill me!_ Rethon thought, feeling his knees weaken.

"It seems that someone claiming to be the King of Hardorn has whipped them into a frenzy of hatred, my Emperor. At least fifteen estates, manors, or duchys have unified into a small army that is overpowering the platoons sent up there. They want you off of the Throne, my Emperor. And their messages and warnings are spreading across the face of the Empire. More and more people are claiming dislike and hatred, my Emperor."

Melles didn't say anything, so Rethon decided that it would be a good idea to clarify things. He _was _the messenger, after all.

"Hatred for you, my Emperor."

Something grabbed Rethon's throat with a wrenching, sickening crunch, and as he flew through the air, struggling to breathe through a crushed windpipe, he watched Melles flinging levinbolts in all directions, shattering windows and creating craters in the stone and marble walls.

He hit the wall with a wet smack and died knowing that something had truly, horribly, with a pinpoint accuracy enraged the Emperor. And he was glad of it.


	36. Night of Fire

Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts and place your seats and tray tables into the upright and locked position; the flight of fantasy is coming to a close.

Circles of Blood: Keep watch for the sequel in a few weeks (or days).

And now, the dénouement.

* * *

Not a danger, not a blacky stranger  
Rock it - rock it - knock to my door I'll open  
Speak my name now, speak if it you know how  
Fly to me, get ready for the  
Night of fire, you've better better stay  
You've better better begin the prayer to play  
Night of fire, come over over me  
Come over over the top you'll have a night of fire  
_Niko's Night of Fire_

My love for you, unconditional love too  
Gotta get up, get up  
Get up, get up, get up and show you that it

Doesn't really matter what the eye is seeing  
Cause I'm in love with the inner being  
And it doesn't really matter what they believe  
What matters to me is you're in love with me Doesn't matter if you're feeling insecure  
Doesn't matter if you're feeling so unsure  
Cause I'll take away the doubt within your heart  
And show that my love will never hurt or harm  
_Janet Jackson's Doesn't Really Matter _

**Chapter 36: Night of Fire**

Rowen tried to shout to Julian, "_No!_" but the Gate collapsed, and Julian was in Crag Castle with him and a half-dozen annoyed-looking Haighlei warriors.

Rowen was half-expecting to be skewered right then and there, but to his chagrin, one stepped forward and said in a heavily accented voice, "You couldn't have mentioned that you were going to Gate here?"

"What?" Rowen asked, confused. Julian was shaking his head, looking bewildered and alarmed.

"The Envoy Ayize bade us follow you and assist you should you decide to come to the Capital of the Empire and assassinate the Emperor. There were twenty more men assigned to the task, but we were the only ones able to come through the Gate before that mage pulled it down."

Incensed, Rowen growled. "And you didn't think to mention that you could have helped me?"

"You didn't ask."

Before he could strangle the man, Rowen turned his attention to Julian.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so," Julian muttered. Rowen closed in on him and knelt down beside him, then reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

The second his hand made contact with Julian's skin, he was hit with a wave of utter despair, rage, sorrow, confusion, and a million other emotions that crawled in and over and around his skin and made him want to scream.

A sharp, stinging slap to his face brought him around somewhat, and he stared down at Julian, who was making an obvious effort not to scream the words at him.

"You _bastard_, what the _hell _were you thinking coming here alone?! Why in _Kernos' _name would you do that to me, you son of a bitch!"

Rowen didn't say anything. He _couldn't _say anything. Julian continued railing.

"Did you just plan on screwing me and then leaving me? Oh you bloody _bastard_ what a fine partner you are to just _fuck _me and then _leave _me in the belly of a ship with nothing left and no way to get to you and then _feel _you _die five hundred furlongs away _and not be able to _do anything about it._" Julian snarled and slapped him again, and Rowen took it.

Tears were streaming down Julian's face in torrents, dripping off the end of his chin. His nose was rapidly reddening, and he was sniffling hard every third word.

The Haighlei watched silently, weapons relaxed and eyes half-lidded.

Rowen felt a jagged wave of guilt wash over him. "Julian, I--"

"How could you?" Julian asked, and the anger in his voice was fading.

Rowen kept his silence.

"How. Could. You?"

"I don't know," Rowen said into a terrible silence. "I just did it. I didn't think. He--Melles needs to die. But..." He trailed off, unable to finish it.

"But?"

"But I don't want to die doing it," Rowen whispered.

Julian kept his stony silence.

Rowen gulped and finished, forcing the words out around a horrible lump in his throat. "I don't want to do that to you."

The Bard still didn't say anything, and Rowen reached out and pulled him into his arms, holding his stiff body close.

"Please," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

After interminable hours, Julian relaxed somewhat, and Rowen drew him closer. "I don't know what I was thinking," he whispered into tangled strings of blonde hair.

Julian's arms slowly found their way around Rowen's torso, and as the Valdemaran hugged him, Rowen felt the full magnitude of what he'd almost done.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered in wonder.

Julian said something that was muffled against Rowen's armor, and he didn't look up. Before Rowen could ask, love poured from the man in his arms, an outflowing that left him breathless and filled with wonder.

The Haighlei warrior that had spoken to Rowen cleared his throat, reminding him of their duty.

"Julian, do you want to stay by my side through all of this? Do you want to be my partner in both soul and duty, and help me stop the madman who seeks the destruction of both our countries?"

The words had an odd, formal ring to them, and Rowen wondered if the words themselves weren't his own.

"I do," Julian said. "And I'll follow you beyond, if we survive this."

Rowen felt a great weight drop out of his stomach and a still greater one settle upon his heart.

_I didn't want him to be a part of this. Madman or not, this is murder. And we may not survive it. _

"I don't care," Julian whispered.

Rowen looked at the lone speaking Haighlei. "What is your name?"

"Kwame. I am the son of one of the Black Kings under Dumisai. I was sent personally by him to do as Ayize directed."

"I see. And the rest of you?"

"Oji."

"Jafare."

"Chaka."

"Abdule."

"Mojembe."

Rowen committed those names to memory. If any of them didn't survive this, he would atone for it.

"Let's go."

With Rowen leading the way, the men quietly ventured down the stone hallway, past old cells long walled up and a few new ones.

A thin whisper made it's way out past a hastily walled-up cell, and Rowen frowned. "Stop."

"What is it?" Oji asked, gripping his spear tightly.

"There's someone in this one." A loud thud came from the other side of the wall, and Julian jumped.

Rowen corrected himself. "Someone--maybe some_thing._"

"Someone alive," Julian chimed in firmly. "Someone. And they want out."

"Do they have any intents on harming us?" Kwame asked cautiously.

"No. All I'm sensing is hopelessness and anger. I can't tell who it's directed at, but it's at one person in particular."

"Well, then," Rowen said. "In for a copper--" and he turned and kicked in the wall with his hind hooves.

Mortar-dust and stale air filled the hallway, and from inside the cell came a low moaning sound.

Rowen cautiously lit a spark in the air and sent it whirling into the cell, where it illuminated the slim form of a woman before it went out. But her shape was all _wrong_.

"Hello?" he said hesitantly, sending in another flame."

The woman groaned. "Water. Please, I need--water." Oji hastened into the cell, waterskin in hand. He tipped its contents into the woman's lips, and she drank faster than Rowen had ever seen someone drink water before.

When the water was all gone, the woman rose shakily to her feet with the help of the wall. "Thank you," she said, lurching unsteadily. As she came into the light from the flickering torches in the hallway, the Haighlei backed away, and even Rowen felt alarmed.

The woman looked green in the light, but there was nothing green in the hallway for her skin to reflect.

Her hair looked like vines, twining in and out of and around each other, and her fingertips had leaves sprouting out of them. She was still recognizably a woman, but her skin was rough and dark like bark, and her eyes were a pure, glowing green, though the light was very dim.

_Like foxfire,_ Rowen thought, and she looked at him.

"You kicked in the wall?" she asked, and when she opened her mouth, Rowen felt his stomach lurch. Instead of a tongue she had a twisting set of hollow, hard, reeds.

"Yes," he said.

"Thank you."

New branches sprouted from her shoulders and joints, and along her back a set of moss grew. It matched that covering the personal parts of her, though Rowen didn't see the point. He doubted there was much to look at there.

Her shape was bent over and hunched, much like the weeping willows of the ponds in the North, and more moss showed under her arms when she moved them away from her sides.

Roots sprouted out of the tree-woman's feet and easily ripped apart the stones of the floor, and slowly but steadily, her eyes grew brighter.

She retracted the rootlets, and her gaze hardened. "Where is the Emperor?" she asked.

"Why?" Rowen asked. If she wanted to protect him...

"I'm going to kill him," she said.

Rowen smiled. "Not if we get there first."

Her eyes changed from a dark green to a paler, more lively tone. "Shall we journey together?"

"Only one question."

"Ask it."

"What were you?"

Her branches drooped a little. "I was a scholar," she admitted. "And I was caught by a changecircle on my way to the Capital. And now I am the very thing I used to read."

Rowen didn't want to question the statement; in the West, books were printed on vellum and bound in leather.

"Then help us," he said. She nodded.

Kwame asked, "Are there any others here that could help us?"

Her mouth twisted in a grimace. "No. They are all dead or too close to it to be of any use."

"Oh," Rowen said.

Julian moved closer to her. "What is your name?"

"It was Alessa."

"Then help us, Alessa."

"Gladly."

They made their way slowly through corridors, dodging guards. When they couldn't, a well-placed spear or arrow silenced an alarmed guard, and by the time they reached the Throne Room, Rowen had six dead guards to his name, and the Haighlei had two or three each.

Alessa had none, but Rowen suspected that that would change soon.

Alessa led the way now, leading them through hidden passageways that let them bypass several groups of guards that would have spelled their doom, and then they came to the doors of the Throne Room.

A bakers dozen guards in full armor were waiting there, arms at the ready. They spotted Alessa and Rowen first--who wouldn't?--and yelled a challenge, poising themselves for battle. Before Rowen could pull back an arrow on the bow, the Haighlei were charging the men, each black man taking on two men. Kwame took on three, and the Haighlei cleared the guards to the walls, opening a path for Rowen, Julian, and Alessa.

"Go!" Kwame shouted, drawing a short knife across one guard's throat.

Rowen grabbed Julian bodily and galloped past, Alessa hot on his heels.

Together they burst through the doors to the Throne Room, only to find it empty, bereft of both courtiers and Melles.

The only thing occupying the room was a huge metal throne made of what looked like hundreds of varied weapons.

Rowen swore, and Alessa looked around. "There is an entrance behind that tapestry," she said gesturing.

Behind them, Julian gasped and then muffled it.

"What is it," Rowen asked, twisting around. Julian was dead white, and his lips were thin. "It's nothing," he said unconvincingly, though waves of shock and dread were pouring off of him.

Rowen took his arm and led him toward the tapestry.

"It's a hidden staircase," Julian said dully. "There's going to be a walled-off top and you're going to have to kick it in."

Alessa looked at the blind man incredulously. "How do you know that?" she asked.

_That's what I'd like to know. _

"You don't want to know," Julian said in that bleak, dead voice.

Alessa drew the tapestry aside, and when they stepped through, the sounds of the fighting in the hallway leading to the Throne Room vanished.

They went up the staircase slowly, Rowen leading with swords drawn, Julian stumbling along in his wake and Alessa bringing up the rear.

They found Melles on the roof, waiting for them.

"So this is the creature who presumed it could stop me," Melles sneered as Rowen shoved Julian behind him.

"I don't presume anything," Rowen said, drawing an arrow. He nocked, pulled, and let it fly straight at Melles' left eye, but it incinerated into frozen dust in the shape of an arrow a full foot away from his face and crumbled into ash when the Emperor plucked it from the air.

"My turn," Melles said, gesturing.

The air around the three would-be assassins electrified, and little snaps and sparks of lightning reached out every few seconds to zap one of them.

Julian drove it back with a wall of dread and despair that nearly knocked Rowen to his knees, and the lightning vanished.

Melles' next move was to send fifty daggers of pure light towards them, but they traveled no farther than the midpoint between them.

Fire curled out of the air and ate each dagger like a toad snapping flies out of the air.

While Melles was distracted, the scribe took her chance.

Alessa flowed toward the Emperor like water, roots winding around his legs like snakes.

Rowen watched as his purposefully gesturing arms were pinned straight away from his sides, outstretched as far and father than they should have gone, popping as they were pulled.

The female Changechild twined about Melles, roots sinking far between the stones. Melles began to look somewhat frightened.

"No," he howled, clawing at the arms drawn about him in a parody of a lover's embrace.

"No, no no no!"

Alessa looked at Rowen one last time. "Burn us," she commanded.

Rowen looked her in the eye, then nodded.

The air ignited.

He watched as Alessa and Melles burned together, and beside him, Julian crumpled.

"Why?" he moaned, stretching the word out as he rocked back and forth. Rowen fought to keep his concentration, but intensified the heat. Alessa looked like she was in ecstasy, and Melles fought against his burning bonds.

He succumbed before they did, and he and Alessa fell together, breaking into clumps of burned wood and bone on the stone roof of the Castle.

Rowen watched some of the ash get swept off the rooftops, and then he reached down and plucked a few pieces of burned wood off the floor. He slipped them reverently into a pouch on his belt.

Alessa would get a proper burial.

Around them, men began boiling up from hidden entrances to the roof.

_Perhaps not. _

The men converged on him and Julian, and Rowen fought fiercely to keep them both alive. Sheet after sheet of flame burned men alive, and his swords took care of the men that survived the onslaught of fire. A circle of men was piling up high around him to the point where men were climbing over three and four foot high walls to fight him.

Rowen was getting tired, and he couldn't send any more fire. His head felt like it was about to explode, and he knew he'd overdone something, but certain lines in his brain felt like they'd been freshly cauterized.

And the men kept coming.

"I'm sorry, Julian," he yelled. His arms felt like lead, but still they moved.

Julian yelled something back, and suddenly many of the men fell backwards, screaming.

"I'm sorry, too!" the Bard yelled. He stood up beside Rowen and reached an arm over his back.

He opened his mouth to say something else, and men began to climb over the wall of bodies again.

Behind them, something spoke. :_Are you just going to stand there all day?_:

Rowen spun around. Sitting behind them, looking completely calm, was a cream cat with a red brick mask and paws.

:_Cat got your tongue?_:

"Altra!" Julian shouted.

The cat blinked large blue eyes at them. :_We don't have a lot of time. Now let's get out of here._:

The Firecat pranced forward, tail held high.

Crag Castle vanished.

O

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."

"They're unuseable?"

"Completely burned out and cauterized shut. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Am I a danger to anyone?"

"No."

"Can I go?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Healer Miriam," Rowen replied dutifully.

He left the Healer's Wing, unsure of whether he should feel relieved or upset. Overusing his Firestarting channels to defend himself and Julian on the roof of Crag Castle had done something that no one could fix; his channels were sealed shut and healing. He couldn't use flame again.

Not that that would be much of a problem. Enemies wouldn't have been a problem with the Sworn training him, and the flame was just another weapon. One that he hopefully wouldn't need any longer.

He stopped by the Temple on one side of the Field to make an offering and gratitude to the souls of the Haighlei who had (presumably) been lost in Crag Castle. They hadn't found their way up to the roof, and no one had heard from them. They were lost, presumed dead, and mourned.

The Empire was in a shambles; energy from an unknown source had leveled Crag Castle only minutes after they'd been Jumped out, and many buildings in the main city had damage, and fields for several miles around it were covered in blight or were burned.

Tremane and Valdemar were slowly but quietly sending in certain mages and trusted advisors to set up a democracy that would hopefully help the Empire restore itself over time and divide back into sovereign countries. The estates and lands in the North were attempting to set an example; they had organized themselves into the nation of Saturnus, and were the most organized out of all the Empire.

The armies had gone home after realizing that Melles was dead and hadn't picked a successor. The Marshall-General had ordered all but a few sections of the army to help rebuild the rest of the country, and those that were left on the Border were engaging in no activity, defensive or offensive.

Rowen wandered back to the ekele slowly, each foot finding its own way in the grass as he traversed the green expanse.

He found Julian waiting outside.

"Something wrong?"

"It's a siren song," Julian whispered, blind gaze distant and far away. "You can't hear it?"

He extended _something_ to Rowen, and suddenly Rowen felt it, too--a summons that called them to follow it, farther into the Grove than the ekele was.

They walked together through the Grove, following that strange, fey call until they stood in the very center of the copse of trees, alone and with no sign that they were anywhere near open land, let alone a city.

A woman, draped in black with crossed swords over her back, appeared in the clearing. Her presence was nearly overwhelming, and Her eyes were the bejeweled black velvet of the night sky.

_Kal'enel! _

Rowen dropped to his knees as best he could, wincing at the pulled and torn muscles that were being strained. Beside him, Julian did the same, and they waited for Her to speak with bated breath.

_**--Rowen shena Tale'sedrin.--**_

"Warrior," he said reverently. Beside him, Julian gasped at her voice.

_**--You have done well.--**_

"Thank you," he said humbly.

_**--You have risked your lives to save your countries. I believe that deserves reward.--**_

She didn't move, but suddenly they weren't alone.

_**--You may remain here, locked in that form for this life with your lifebonded partner.--**_

Two Rowens appeared in the glen, almost larger than life and both near-glowing. His current form, half-horse, half man, and his old, old, human form, garbed and veiled in black.

_**--Or you can remain forever in my service as you once were, wholly human.--**_

Human Rowen's eyes were pure black and and stippled with tiny stars in their depths. Cold, spirit. Inhuman.

There was no question about the answer.

"I'll stay. Here. With Julian. I don't care what form I'm in. As long as I'm with him, I'm whole."

The words seemed to reverberate around them in the Grove, crystallizing in the air.

Kal'enel smiled. **_--It_ _is a good choice.--_ **

She vanished. The vysaka--the Goddess-bond that had been keeping Rowen's emotions in check vanished.

Julian made a choking noise, bracing his hands on the ground.

Rowen turned. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I--" Julian stuttered, gasping for air. "She--"

He turned his head to look at Rowen, and it only took Rowen a moment to realize the difference.

Julian's eyes were brilliant and clear, focused on him--looking into Rowen's eyes.

He had never seen eyes so intense and blue. Meeting Julian's gaze was like falling into a Companion's eyes, and with an almost-audible snap, something in the lifebond connected.

"Your eyes are blue," Rowen murmured.

"And you're breathtaking," Julian whispered, reaching up to stroke Rowen's face.

_Thank you, Goddess,_ Rowen thought.

Julian's lids slipped over those enchanting, seeing eyes as he leaned in.

And Rowen kissed him gladly.

_Thank you. _


End file.
